


Asylum

by Tealot



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Brothers, Dystonia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Procedures, Original Character(s), Other, Psychosis, Twincest, Violence, Vomiting, medical violence, twin telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 108
Words: 208,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tealot/pseuds/Tealot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere, there are people whose souls aren't for sale. Who won't sell you out to the highest bidder. Who help you stop seeing the blood on your hands.</p><p>Murphy and Connor want to believe they're real. They want to believe they've found them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He went from sixty to zero with no warning...though maybe that wasn't quite true, when he thought about it later. One minute he stepped into the sunlight, new keys jingling in his hand, bright with the promise of...finally...someplace SAFE, someplace THEIRS. Of nights sleeping without one eye open, senses on hyperalert, always tuned to the sound of the doors, the windows. Of a place where they could wind down, turn off, relax for the first time since they'd learned just how high the price on their heads actually was. Since they'd learned that everyone was for sale, and almost everyone can certainly be bought. God knew how many years it had been. He sure didn't. He only knew how tired he was, how tired both of them were, and how much he wanted, needed, for this whole thing to work out.

One minute all was bright with hope, the first he'd felt in decades...the next...well not really the next because there WAS that weird sensation in his gut. That strange feeling that something deep inside had telescoped in on itself. Not pain, at least it hadn't been, but if he was being truthful it had started to hurt just lately hadn't it? Just a little? And there had been that faintly queasy feeling. Not sick, exactly, though again hadn't it begun to move toward that? Just a little?

So...almost no warning.

One step into the sun and then a split second of “God, there it is again” as something deep inside tightened, turned in on itself, and then, unquestionably, pain, and this time 'just a little' didn't enter into it at all.

This was not just pain, but PAIN and this pain was HUGE, enormous, all encompassing. This pain, for a moment just taking his breath away, whiting out his vision, erasing the world.

He'd heard the phrase 'doubled over in pain' and it crossed his mind that now he knew why he'd never actually done it, or for that matter seen it happen.

It was bullshit.

He couldn't have doubled over if his life depended on it. He couldn't BREATHE much less move.

Somewhere his quickly receding awareness registered a faint, bright metallic clitter and he thought, without much interest, that he must have dropped the new keys. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the enormity of the pain and the knowledge that, if the huge white spots obliterating the world were any indication, he was about to pass out, right here on the street, an open target for the thousands who wanted to kill him, the thousands more who would sell him in a heartbeat to the highest bidder.

Almost absently he reached out, and by some divine providence his hand connected with a wall. Good. Good. Maybe, holding on, he could stay standing, not that it would help much if the nausea, and there was nothing little about it now, rising in his throat got much worse.

He thought, with a wry and twisted sort of amusement, that it couldn't get much more perfect than one of the infamous former saints of Boston first vomiting and then passing out cold, in the middle of the day, in the middle of Commonwealth Avenue. Anyone who wanted to could scoop him up in a net and have done with it and there wasn't a chance in he'll he'd be able to stop them.  
For a moment he didn't care. For the tiniest of seconds he thought of the relief a bullet to his brain would be, and then the Saint in him, unimpressed with his pain or his sickness, rose up and his thinking brain reasserted itself.

He had to get off the street.

He had to let go of the wall, pick up the keys, and get himself the three blocks, three lousy, stinking, for fuck sake he'd RUN further than that gutshot and bleeding, blocks to the door of the new building. The place they'd been promised was safe. He needed to meet the man who'd set this up, Bodhi his name was, get inside, and then by fuck he could collapse into whatever state he wanted to, but right now he needed to move.

He let go of the wall, waited to see if his treacherous body was going to further it's exquisitely timed revolution and, satisfied that he was stable in his current level of misery, leaned to pick up his keys.

The fresh bolt of pain that hit was completely blinding in its intensity, making the first hit look like nothing more than a twinge, and this time he did go down, strength and balance vanishing in an instant as the world tipped, tilted, spun back on its axis. He felt his head hit the wall, wetness and warmth running down his face. Blood. Sweat. Maybe tears, he didn't know. Felt the pain spiral up and up and up, sickness right behind it, panic setting in as he realized there was no AIR. The air was gone and maybe there was nothing wrong with him at all, maybe something had happened to the world.

Coherent thought ceased and he caught there, somewhere between consciousness and deadly panic, unable to see, unable to think, on the edge of SOMETHING...when suddenly, absolutely out of nowhere and no later analysis would ever change that, an arm slipped around him, held on, a hand pressed against his forehead and a voice, completely unfamiliar but soft as a whispered thought in his ear, spoke.

“Murphy. Breathe.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bodhi was lucky, in that instant, that he continued existence among the breathing.

Although it had never been said of him that he lacked common sense, and he was certainly far from stupid, it never crossed his mind that the last thing in the world he should do, because it well could be, was grab one of the saints, even one who seemed desperately ill and well on his way into unconsciousness, from behind.

Cogency came quickly enough when Murphy, running on panic and instinct alone, slithered in his grasp and Bodhi found himself somehow held, trapped, face to face with a Saint, the barrel of a gun pressed into his chest, blue eyes, hard and somehow limitless, staring into his own in cold appraisal, terrifyingly intimate, touching his soul.

Instinct screamed at him to get away, run, fight, do SOMETHING, anything, to get away from the gun, of course, but even more from that STARE. That to sit here and let this thing he'd mistaken for human just HAVE him was suicide at best. Insanity the unequivocal outcome if he survived.

He'd never much been one to go on instinct...one of the few times he had, when he'd seen Murphy go down and had grabbed him, had been about a minute ago and look where it had landed him...and he knew full well who...and what...he was dealing with.

On some visceral level he knew that Murphy, like a wounded animal, was indescribably dangerous and seconds away from blowing him to kingdom come. His edict to never kill an innocent would never even have a chance to come into play if he felt anymore threatened than he already was.

He told instinct to fuck off and held still, letting Murphy...or whoever Murphy was right now...read him.

That he didn't move saved his life.

A blink, a heartbeat...and he saw the eyes staring into his own change, saw the Saint recede as that freakish, limitless depth left them and they became, simply, what they were. Murphy's eyes, infinitely weary, full of pain, utterly human, falling closed. Another beat and the gun pulled back, disappeared, as the arms that held him fell away and Murphy slumped back against the wall, any semblance of strength completely dissipated.

Murphy, aware that he'd sensed no harm in this man, but a long way from actually registering anything more, and completely unaware that he'd just given every indication of having been possessed by an insane angel, or that he'd come within an inch of blowing a hole in the guy, gave in to the situation. He wasn't going anywhere on his own, six seconds of panic induced strength notwithstanding. This guy wasn't going to hurt him, at least not at the moment, and he needed help.

In what felt like a Herculean feat of power and strength, he forced his eyes open, not quite managing focus, struggled for a deep enough breath to speak and managed something between a croak and a whisper.

“I need to get off the street.”

Bodhi nodded, reaching for him even as he spoke. “I know. I'm Bodhi, you were supposed to meet me. I got the call that you had picked up the keys. When you didn't show up I went looking for you.”

Alarmed confusion flashed in Murphy's eyes, and Bodhi saw them start to go cold, fear sparking his understanding. “Connor, Murphy. Connor called to let me know you'd be five minutes. It's been a whole lot longer than that. Come on.” He hesitated for a moment, his hand grasping Murphy's. “This'll probably hurt” and pulled him to his feet.

Later, Murphy would take serious credit for the fact that he hadn't screamed like a gutshot panther when Bodhi hauled him off the ground. He'll, he'd BEEN gutshot and it hadn't hurt half as much, never mind that it was taking everything he had not to vomit. Whatever was going on inside of him wasn't fucking around and fear, real fear, mortal and black, shot through him, lighting through his veins, coiling around his heart.

This was what they had feared the most, he and Connor. Not bullets, not assassins, none of that. This was what they feared. That one of them would get sick, really sick, the kind of sickness that required doctors, hospitals, treatment. Sure, they knew a bullet could as easily kill them, but with a bullet no-one needed to sit around and watch it happen, helpless to stop it for no reason other than they couldn't go to a doctor, couldn't go to a hospital, couldn't go anywhere medical.

They'd learned the hard way that a hospital visit would be their death. Learned it the night they'd both fled an emergency room, running, Murphy shooting with one hand and holding his guts in with the other.

The day Connor had stumbled into their apartment, still dazed, pulling tubes from his veins, retching, shaking, waiting for the toxin injected into his IV to wear off or kill him.

They'd learned later, through people who had once been their friends, that there wasn't a medical facility anywhere that came without the risk that someone had been well paid to make a call if they showed up. And so they lived with it, dealt with it, and forced down the fear that someday...

“Someday came early.”

Murphy started at the sound of his own voice, unaware that he'd spoken aloud, and oh CHRIST how he wished he hadn't, those three words igniting the nausea, gagging him even as he fought it, panic rising in him.

His hands found their way into his hair, pulling hard, bringing blood, his wont in times of great stress.

And then...Bodhi, gently, so gently, taking his hands, pulling them down, eyes gazing into his, serious and concerned but absolutely unafraid, his voice soft, infinitely soothing. “Don't hurt yourself, Murphy. You're ok. You're gonna make it home and you'll be alright. Breathe, Murphy. You freak out and forget to breathe. Just BREATHE. And come with me. You're almost home”.

It was only three blocks. It felt like three miles. Though his equilibrium, oddly enough, had returned as soon as he'd started walking, everything else had intensified and he was going on pure stubbornness, unwilling to let any of it take him again.

He suspected that some of this resolve was coming from Connor, who was clearly getting some interference down the line. He knew something was wrong, didn't know what, and had been blowing up Murphy's phone since he'd started walking. Murphy's refusal to answer wasn't doing much for Connor's peace of mind, but it had sparked a 'hang on, brother' vibe back to Murphy that was helping a lot. It was, very likely, the biggest reason he was still on his feet.

That and Bodhi, who kept a hand on him, not pulling or shoving at him, just guiding, emanating calm, who somehow got him down the street, through a door, up two sets of stairs and into a kitchen before everything fell apart.


	3. Chapter 3

He managed just under a minute inside before he came undone. Unaware of much, after the stairs, he knew only that he was hot. So ungodly fucking hot. Unbelievably, intolerably hellishly hot.

And the pain had stopped. Completely. Too completely. If he'd been asked to explain why this absence of pain bothered him, he wouldn't have been able to. It just did. Everything in his body seemed to have stopped. It all felt deathly still, too quiet. Slowly, carefully, afraid to move and aggravate the absence of pain, he slid his coat off, hoping at least to lessen the feeling that he was burning alive.

Minimal movement, it was too much.

The ultimate crash and burn.

Nausea, like nothing he'd ever felt, horrible, unmanning, it broke over him in waves, and he'd thought it was bad before. He glanced at Bodhi, too undone too see the alarm on his face, choked out “bathroom” and gentle, non-pulling, non-tugging Bodhi had him by the back of the neck, shoving him through a doorway, pulling him down to the floor.

The same wry, darkly comic turn that had hit him on the street hit him again at the thought that all it took to crash the guys Zen was the threat of messing up his floor, forcing an insane, involuntary laugh. Then all coherent thought ceased as everything came up in a rush and God it didn't seem it was ever going to stop.

Bodhi watched him. Halfway across the room, perched on the edge of the sink, trying to get a handle on the fear coursing through him. Hating himself for leaving Murphy on his own, wanting to sit with him, offer whatever comfort he could, unable to shake the image behind his eyes. Watching from out of reach, unwilling to leave him alone, but for the first time truly afraid of him.

He knew it was stupid. He knew it had been nothing but the light, shadows, Murphy's terrible pallor, but when Murphy'd looked up at him in the kitchen, all of the color draining out of his face, leaving it some horrible deathly mix of white, green and gray, his eyes had been the vacant, flat, glassy black of someone dead for weeks. And when he'd spoken, only one word but it was enough to hear that there was nothing remotely human in his voice. If the dead spoke, he thought, watching from out of reach and feeling like an ass, that's what they'd sound like.

He knew he'd been rough, grabbing him and pushing him into the bathroom, and he'd felt bad, enough that he'd pushed his fear aside and pulled Murphy down WITH him, fully intending to sit with him and not let an optical illusion drive him away, but the laugh he thought he'd heard from Murphy, just before the vomiting started, scared him more than his face had, and he'd moved.

So, he watched. Watched him struggling to catch a breath, the sickness unrelenting. Watched the panic, watched the pain, watched blood dripping into the bowl when his nose started to bleed and finally that was enough, all he could take, and he went to him, knelt down, touched his back only for Murphy, again feeling cornered, trapped, to belt him back across the room with a sound lost between a cry and a growl.

He stayed there, sat against the tub and waited, fear draining away, crazily enough, now that Murphy had hit him. Nothing like a punch in the chest to bring reality crashing back. Looking at him now he saw exactly what he'd seen before. He looked dead. The only thing giving lie to that was the blood. Dead people don't bleed. And they don't cry. Blood and tears, he thought. Sole provenance of the living. But the vomiting had pretty well stopped and he got up, wincing where he'd stiffened up, wondering first how much time had passed, and second where Connor was. If it had been long enough for him to get cramped, it'd been way too long for Connor to still be gone.

He pushed that down...one brother at a time...filled up a water glass and toed Murphy, who looked utterly miserable wiping away tears and blood with the back of his hand, miserable but very much alive.

When he didn't respond he toed him again and held out the water, somewhere between aggravated and amused when Murphy's voice, very human, growled up at him, “you want to quit kicking me?” He reached up and took the water, waving off Bodhi’s admonition not to chug it with “don't you worry, I'm not swallowing anything. This little festival’s not over yet.”

He'd pulled away a little, up against the wall, and Bodhi, understanding his need for space, backed off, watched him pull himself back into some semblance of together and settle himself back against the wall, eyeballing the smokes in Bodhi’s shirt pocket. “Think I could get one of those?”

Bodhi, agreeable, shook one out, lit it, handed it to him. “That’s just gonna make you sick again, y'know”

Murphy's laugh was unexpected and oddly cheerful, given his obvious exhaustion. “That’s inevitable anyway, I think. And fuck, I need it. I never do that.”

“What, puke?”

“Yeah. Never.”

“Guess you can't say that anymore. “

“Guess not.”

With his vision clear again, and nothing feeling like an immediate crisis, Murphy finally got a real look at the guy who'd, for all intents and purposes, saved him. Smiling a little he pointed with the cigarette. “Well fuck, look at you. You're just a kid. If you're old enough to drink I'll eat your fake ID.”  
Bodhi, over his scare and reclaiming his Zen, smiled back.

“I’m a little older than I look.”

“Still just a kid.”

Unfazed, Bodhi lit his own smoke. “You’re not.”

“No. I'm not. Haven't been for a long time.” He thought about it for a minute. “Were you expecting me to be?”

“I think I might have been. You don't sound Irish anymore, either.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He sighed and there was something harsh in it. “We kind of force faded that. Too distinctive. We had enough trouble with half the world knowing who we were. Didn't need to make it any easier. It's still there, though. Have to be careful if we're tired, or mad. Connor if he's not feeling good...”he let it trail off, changing the subject abruptly. “Did I hit you?”

“Yeah, I figured I startled you.”

“Jumped the fuck outta me, but I'm sorry about that. I don't...I wouldn't have...”

He let that one go, too, and when he looked up again his eyes were ice, not the cold appraisal of earlier, there was no threat, but Bodhi knew he was being sussed out by more than just Murphy.

There was no feeling in those eyes. When he spoke, the Irish was thick in his voice. “I’m gonna ask you something. Don't lie to me. Can I trust you?”

Bodhi nodded, mute, somehow realizing that wasn't the question.

“You pushed me in here. Hard. Not like a person does if someone's sick and they're hurrying them along. You grabbed...here...and you shoved. Hard. Away from you. You don't strike me as a grabber or a shover. You certainly don't push people away. You pull them in. Why did you do that? Don't lie.”

He didn't stop to think. “I saw something.”

“Isn’t that interesting. I see something when I look at you too. Something I can't explain. What did you see?”

In for a penny...”l saw you dead.”

As fast as they'd gone cold, Murphy's eyes warmed again, little glints of everything that made him him clearly visible.

“Did you really. I imagine so. Kinda how I felt. It scared you?”

“Scared the fuck outta me. Can we leave this bathroom?”

“You can. I'm not going anywhere for a while.”

“You still feel sick?”

Murphy's nod was miserable, but he waved Bodhi out. “You don't have to stay. You kinda saw, I'm not much on being petted.”

“I wasn't gonna pet you. Murphy...your phone was blowing up, now it's...”

“That was Connor.”

“I know. But Murphy, where is he?”

“He’s here.”

“Here?”

“Here. Or…out there in whatever room that is. Has been for a while now.”

He sat up, crossed his arms over the toilet, rested his head on them, pale and sweating again. “Go talk to him.”

Bodhi nodded, not wanting to leave him alone, knowing he needed space. He left a cigarette and the lighter on the floor by his foot, and went out to talk to Connor.


	4. Chapter 4

Connor had found himself thoroughly unimpressed with pretty much everything from the moment his eyes had opened that morning.

It should have been an easy day, a really GOOD day. Two things on their agenda, none of which involved killing anyone and what a blessing THAT was.

Nothing likely to get them killed, either, always a bonus though you never knew. Being who they were it was never out of the question. Still, it looked like it might be the first good day in an awfully long string of bad ones.

Not that it'd turned out that way.

First Murphy, with that weird thing he'd developed over the last few months. That tendency to suddenly stop, freeze, wincing and tight, hand pushing into his middle, arguing that it couldn't really be anything, regardless of the frequency with which it happened, because ; “It doesn't HURT, Conn, it just feels weird. Like if you take a telescope and close it. If you were the telescope and could feel it. That's what it feels like. It's just weird.”

But on the days that it happened he'd eat almost nothing, avoiding food as if it were poison. He'd argued about that, too; “No, I don't feel sick, Conn. Not exactly. Just strange. Like if I do, THEN I might feel sick. And I'd rather not. I feel ok though.”

Uh huh. He hadn't bought it then, and his suspicion that all was far from well with his brother only intensified as the weeks passed and be could see that there WAS pain. Not much, no, but some. And there was sickness, again not much, but in Murphy not much was bad enough. He just didn't GET sick, not like that. Murphy wasn't a puker, lucky fucker. Connor could count on one hand, with fingers left over, the number of times he'd seen his brother stomach sick. If he so much as felt queasy it was a sign he was about to be laid out by something big. Once it had been appendicitis. Once it had been a med reaction that had nearly killed him. Once, the worst and longest ever, that horrible infection after he'd been shot in the belly, the one they were sure he wouldn't survive.

Minor, uncomfortable, fucking unpleasant as he'll in everyone else, a harbinger of doom in Murphy.

He hadn't pushed it, though, because it didn't matter what it was, there was nothing they could do about it.

This morning, when one look at his brother had convinced him that the car ride into Springfield to get the paperwork done on the place they were going, the paperwork effectively erasing their identities and replacing them, would be too much for him to handle, his first aggravation had set in.

Two things. Get the documentation done, get the keys and meet their contact, some guy named Bodhi...stupid name...at the address in Boston. The supposed impenetrable safe house. He had his doubts, but one of the very few people he'd ever trusted implicitly had talked him into it.

Two things.

He hated to split up with things as knife edge tense as they'd been, but he'd seen no way out of it. Murphy wouldn't be able to take the car ride.

He'd dropped him off at the key makers, called their contact to let him know to expect Murphy in a few minutes, and driven on, uneasy, aggravated, and altogether unimpressed by the way this seeming miracle seemed to be playing out.

He wasn't one for miracles. In his experience, if it seemed too good to be true, it always was. No reason for this to be any different.

He'd caught the downer vibe from Murphy seconds after he'd driven away. He'd pulled over, almost turned around, waited to see if it got any worse.

When it didn't, when it just lingered there, Murphy on a crap day, logic won out and he went ahead to Springfield. If Murphy needed him, he'd call.

He was more than halfway there when the buzz in his head started. Static on a radio station, irritating. Unsettling. Fucking Murphy. He'd called, expecting no answer, getting none, set the phone to repeat the call, turned on the speaker, set it down, kept driving.

He knew it wasn't dire. It wasn't danger.

It wouldn't do either of them any good to fuck this up.

Now, sitting on what he supposed was his sofa, in what he supposed was his living room in this supposed super safe house, his level of skepticism reached epic proportions.

He'd simply walked in. Not even a buzzer on the street door, no visible security of any kind, even the apartment door wasn't locked, opening onto a pile of Murphy's stuff...coat, keys, phone, gun just hanging out on a table, ready to be picked up and used to blow his head off.

He'd heard the sound of retching, faintly, from down the hall, and knew what he'd been picking up all day. Something had tipped his brother over, and God knew they were probably in it deep now. He'd started down the hall when it came, that shift he and Murphy were always aware of in each other, never in themselves. Murphy called him Saint Connor when he saw it happen to him, but Connor called bullshit. As far as he could tell there was nothing saintly about it. Just years and years and fucking years of finely tuned intuition coming into play, jettisoning emotion and all of the erratic irrationality that came with it. Clarity.

He stopped in the hall, eyes gone flat, listening. Murphy, yeah. Sick as a dog by the sound, but alright. No danger. He'd leave him alone. That sick, Murphy couldn't stand to be touched.  
And someone else.

He caught nerves, worry, fear...crazy creeped out fear. He would wonder later, when regular thinking resumed, how many times Murphy had sainted out on the kid to get him so worked up, but now he was in seek mode. Any sign, any intuition that led him to think that whoever was in there meant them harm. One sign. In his keyed up state he'd end them in a heartbeat.

He more than listened, reaching out with that honed knife edge sense, and caught guilt, fear, and deep deep concern. Something else...some emotion...almost love, some kind of reverence. Weird, but nothing to worry about. No harm. No danger. At least not for now.

That almost nobody would stay on their side was a given, but right now they were ok.  
He let it fade, whatever it was, and suddenly the exhaustion of the past few weeks fell on him. All at once.

He guessed this place must be safer than it looked, and that saint part of him must have picked up on it, because there was no way his physical defenses would have gone down any other way.  
He felt no need to keep watch, no need to listen for Murphy...someone was already handling that. All he needed to do, right now, was sit down and breathe.

He knew Murphy knew he was here, and he could hear voices in there. They were talking, and that was fine. Thought about going in and caught a comfortable little flash from Murphy. Sort of a 'break for a while, brother, it's ok' kind of tone, and nodded to himself. He would do that.

Bodhi found him, half an hour later, wide awake and miserably tired, chain smoking and staring at the wall. Unsure what he should say, given the unanticipated events of the day, he bypassed speaking and went universal.

He went to the fridge and grabbed them each a beer, laughing a little at the pleased surprise on Connor’s face.

“When I told you the place was set up, I meant it was set up. You have everything you could possibly need. Seriously...” He sat down across the room, noting, curiously, that these two didn't invite people into their space. Everything about them radiated 'back off'.

“You could live for a couple months, here, I guess, without ever leaving the house. Food, clothes, washer and dryer...” He paused, laughing a little, “dish network, internet, laptops. Liquor. Everything.” He got up, crossed to drawer in the kitchen, hauled out a stack of paperwork, spread it on the coffee table. He glanced toward the bathroom, back at Connor. “You want to check on him before we go over this stuff?” Connor, slightly overwhelmed, shook his head. “You were just with him. He ok?” Bodhi’s nod was tentative. “I guess so. He's sick again, but he's ok.” “I’m leaving him be, then. He really never gets sick like this...”

“I know. He told me.”

“When he does, he doesn't like people around. I'm surprised he let you stay.”

“Well, he didn't have much choice, at first. Soon’s I got within reach, though, he smacked me across the room. And he just now kicked me out. Why didn't you let us know you were here?”

Connor, completely unsure what to think of this kid...because that, surprisingly, was all he was...with his pretty boy face all doe eyed and delicate, his hippie kid hair and getup, sceney as he'll, and his blunt, direct affect, matter of fact, to the point, belying the timid, sensitive girly boy appearance, found himself a little at a loss. He was used to being the man in charge. Right now he wasn't sure. Shaking his head, he found himself on the verge of apology.

Uncomfortable with it, he went a little defensive. “Murphy knew I was here as soon as I pulled up out front.”

Bodhi, willing to roll with whatever these two dished out, nodded mildly, accepting the answer. He leaned into the documents spread between them. “You met with Bea? Got everything signed”? At Connor's nod, he waited, waited, finally impatient. “You got it with you, Connor?”

Connor realized he'd been drifting, sifting through the logjam of events choking off his thoughts, and shook himself alert. “Yeah, there's...” He broke off, got up, found a file folder he didn't remember putting down, and realized just how close to done he was. He tossed it into the general pile, rubbing his eyes, fighting the headache starting behind them. “Look, I know this has to be done, but I'm not sure how long I'm gonna be all the way with you. There's something here, man it's tearin me down. I swear I'm ready to fall asleep on my feet. And I have NO idea why I ever would tell you that.”

He sank into the couch again, almost too tired to care where this strange lassitude had come from.

“If you're gonna turn on me, now's your best shot.”

Bodhi sat back, for the first time understanding just how badly wrung out the twins were. He'd known it was bad, he'd had no idea HOW bad.

“I'm not gonna turn on you, Connor. On either of you. Nobody here is. You know that or you wouldn't be letting yourself relax. That's all it is, you know that, right? You're letting yourself let go. Christ...how long since you two have just let yourselves be people?”

The answer came from behind him. Murphy, pale and shaky, headed for Connor and the couch.  
“Way too fucking long. Years.”

He more or less fell onto the couch, leaning on Connor for a moment before, with a muttered “fuck it” he stretched out, his head on Connor's leg. “I'm not sitting up. Deal with it.”

Bodhi didn't wait for a response from Connor. He disappeared somewhere into the depths of the apartment, returning with a bed pillow. He handed it to Murphy, who plopped it into Connor's lap and settled himself in, shooting his brother a smile, daring him to protest.

Connor had no thought of protest. Though he'd known Murphy was ok, his relief at seeing him, touching him, was tangible. He'd let him sleep there all night, if that was what he wanted.

Bodhi watched them settle, saw the chaotic, random gestures and expressions he'd assumed were the norm, smooth out, disappear, and understood, for the first time, just how connected they were. On their own, apart, they were agitated, scattered, erratic. Together they were an entirely different being, and he wasn't sure the word 'they' even applied anymore.

Sighing, wishing he could just let them rest, he slid into business mode, tapping on the table.

“I'm sorry, I wish we could skip this for now, but we really can't. I'll make it as quick as I can.”

He waited until he knew he had Connor's attention, at least. Murphy, already mostly asleep, was a lost cause, no getting around it.

“Connor, I know you doubt how safe you are here. He would too, if he'd been in any shape to notice when he got here. Trust me, nobody who doesn't belong here is getting in. You'll never see the security here, you won't see what's protecting you...not just you, by the way. There are others here. You'll never know who they are, unless they choose to tell you. You're all protected here. You can come and go the same way you would anywhere. You can bring people here. It's not a compound, or a base or a prison. It's just an apartment house. You with me?”

Connor nodded, but his face was skeptical. “If it's just a house what's to stop...”

Bodhi cut him off, waving away the question. “You'll never know. I won't tell you. Neither will anyone else. I can tell you to trust me until I'm blue, it won't do any good, I know. But you'll see. You can both already feel it, I can see it in you. It's real. It is.”

He stopped for a minute, watching them, wishing he could tell them more. Neither of them had recognized him, although he was pretty sure he'd triggered a memory in Murphy, one he'd been too sick to latch on to. He'd agreed not to tell them who he was, with the stipulation that he wouldn't have to lie if they figured it out, kicking himself now for such a stupid agreement knowing he could set their minds at ease with one sentence.

Cursing himself for a fool, he continued “The house is a co-op, owned by everyone who lives in it, now including you two, although only on paper, and not in your names. Connor you signed off on that today, do you understand? The public record shows this apartment is owned by two completely different, fictitious, people. The legal reality does exist on paper, with Bea and nobody else. Her documents are sealed and, in the event of her demise they pass, still sealed, to me. They pass from me to you, should it ever come to that. You'll pay no rent, no fees, no utility bills. Everything is covered by the co-op. There is no public record that you're here. Unlike a squat, which also carries no public record, you have fully functional documentation, fictitious identities more legal than anyone's real ones, proving you belong here. That's what you picked up today, Connor. Identification of every kind, property deeds, powers of attorney, mortgage information, credit cards, functional lines of credit. If you use those credit lines, and you can, they belong to you, you DO have to pay those bills, by the way. Just so you're clear. You're under no obligation to use any of it, except as it pertains to this address. This isn't the witness protection program. It's better, in case you wonder. You're both completely free to be yourselves, but any time being you could cause a problem, you have complete and fully functional backup. You can use it full time, part time or not at all EXCEPT, and I have to stress this, where it pertains to this address. You cannot link your real names to this house. You understand?”

He paused, hoping to give Connor a minute to process, instead finding himself eye to eye with the same calculated, unfeeling appraisal he'd faced with Murphy, and he knew Connor didn't trust it. He waited, knowing by now that the cool, deadly stare would either fade away, or he'd be told what it wanted.

He wasn't mistaken.

Connor leaned in, stared into his eyes. “Aye. I understand. I also understand there's something you're not telling me. I'm not one to lie to. Do YOU understand?”  
Bodhi nodded, trapped by his word, unable to think of anything he could do but explain his dilemma.

“There is something I'm not telling you. It doesn't effect any of this…” his hand brushed the papers on the table, “but it would make you feel better. It would help you understand. But I can't tell you. In order to get you here, to help him...” He stopped, realizing he hadn't reached that information yet, dismissing it almost instantly. “In order to help him, I had to get you here. To get you here, I had to agree not to tell you certain things. I had to give my word.”

“And if you break it? What then. We go?”

“No. You're here. Connor, you're HOME. If I break my word, nothing happens to you.”

“Then what happens to you?”

“I'm gone. See, Connor, I'm home too. But they know how much I want to tell you. Knew I WOULD tell you, the second I thought you needed to hear it and God...You both need to hear it. So to get you here...you're dangerous people, Connor, it took a lot for everyone to risk it, to put everything in place, to dare to do it, do you GET THAT?!...to do it I bargained MY home. If I tell you, I leave.”

The cold STARE persisted. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is there a secret? If it effects none of this, and exists solely as a balm to our distrust, why is it so important we not know?”

“It's not important that you not know. It's important that I don't tell you.”

“You, personally.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I can't tell you without telling you.”

Connor glanced down at Murphy, and when his eyes again met Bodhi’s the calculated, searching look was gone, replaced with exhaustion. He looked away again, down to his brother, gently pushing tangled hair out of his face, drifting.

Bodhi watched his hands, idly stroking his brothers hair, lingering where it was bloodied, moving it aside to reveal the shallow gash.

“How'd this happen?” His voice was tired.

“He fell. He hit it on the side of a building. With everything going on I think he forgot about it.”

Connor nodded, sighing again, his hands in Murphy's hair, soothing himself, calming his nerves, until Murphy, sleepy and gentle, reached up and moved them.

“You're petting me.” He linked his fingers through Connor's, started to smile, fell asleep.

Connor watched him for a minute, looked up at Bodhi.

“I'll not have you give up your home to sooth my nerves. But can you tell me WHY, Bodhi? Why you would put yourself out there like that?”

“Not all of it. But...some.”

“Some'll do.”

“We can help Murphy.”

“Can you. How can you do that?”

“We have doctors.”


	5. Chapter 5

Murphy, lost in the sleep of the utterly destroyed, oblivious to the conversation going on around him, fought even in his dream to remember what his saint, that higher self he'd once thought was the voice of God, back when he believed in God, had tried to show him.

Bodhi. It was Bodhi. All friendly warm eyes, soothing voice, hippie Zen vibe. Bodhi, making him see blood. Making him hear screams. Every time he looked at him. Sickening visions that made no sense. Bullets, blood rain. But when had it ever rained blood?

Sinking, falling, surrounded by blood rain, his dream took him.

 

"How long has he been sick, Connor?"

To his surprise, Connor hadn't much jumped at the idea of doctors for Murphy. He'd smiled a little, wound his fingers back into his brother’s hair, shaken his head. He hadn't come right out and said that it was too late for doctors, but everything about him screamed it.

Bodhi wasn't really surprised. He'd experienced Connor’s fatalistic mindset before, though at the time he'd agreed.

"I don't know, exactly. Like this? Just today. But he's been going down for a while. Something in here, just like today, just...it didn't hurt him."

He felt himself drifting, not into sleep but away from everything.

"I haven't felt like this in a long time. I used to. All the time. Things got crazy, things got scary, my head just shut down. Murph used to laugh at me, say I was the only one he knew who could fall asleep at a gunfight. It wasn't sleep, though. I don't know what it was. More like just being gone. Keeps trying to happen now."

Bodhi waited, letting him talk, wondering how long it had been since anyone had.

"Murphy hasn't been right for a while. Months. Started off nothing. He said something in him felt like a telescope." His laugh was bitter, humorless. "We both figured if it didn't hurt it didn't matter. It just got worse, little by little. Got so it did hurt. Not much, but some. He wouldn't eat, when it happened. He always said he didn't feel sick, but he was afraid he would. He got all wasted looking like he is, pale. Headaches all the time, always thirsty, always uncomfortable. We both knew it wasn't nothing. He tells me I'm an idiot, but I keep thinking it has something to do with this. Look."

Gently, intent on not waking him, he lifted the edge of Murphy's t shirt, revealing a knotted, twisted scar winding across his abdomen, bisecting his navel.

"When we finally knew he'd live, he loved that he'd got his belly button blown in half. He's twisted, my brother."

Bodhi, finding nothing at all funny about it, and not liking Connor’s smile, reached across and pulled his shirt back down. "Connor...when did it happen? WHAT happened?"

Connor’s shrug was almost casual, his eyes clouded and distant, fighting drift.

"He got shot. What else ever happens? He didn't know it right away. Shooting, running, bleeding...it was all normal y'know? Just another day. Wasn't till we got home and he fell, gettin out of the car. He figured he must be bleeding but we'd looked him all over, didn't find it."

He looked at Bodhi, pinning him with those terrible clouded eyes. "You can live a long time with your guts falling out. I don't know how long it took us to realize the blood on his shirt was coming from him. He didn't have any pain. He pulled off his shirt and a lot of him came with it." He paused, back to petting Murphy, seemingly oblivious to the horror of the story he was telling. "Course we did something we never do. We called for help. Let it be known, this was the day the MacManus brothers, on their mission from God, realized that not only was God not halfway inclined to help them, he wasn't so much interested in letting anyone else, either. Ambulance came and got him, I went too, Christ knows what would have happened..."

Another pause, interminable, staring into his brothers sleeping face.

"We'd barely got to the hospital when the guns came out. I don't know where the first shots came from, just that they were at us. He was mostly bled out, not really aware what was going on. I grabbed him and ran and somehow he ran with me. That was the first time I saw him change. One minute it was Murphy, mostly dead and barely on his feet. Then it was...someone else, cursing and shooting and holding his insides in while he ran."

"You do that too, y'know."

"I know. I don't mean to. Neither does he. He says those guys are the saints. Stupid. There were never any saints. That was a stupid nickname that came from our neighbors, before any of any of this had really even started. We went to his girlfriend's house."

Again that bitter laugh. "Maura. She was a vet tech. We showed up on her doorstep with his guts blown out, already almost bled dry. Already dead, or he should have been. She'd watched her boss sew up some cats. I wouldn't even let her call him. I didn't know which random stranger had sold us out. She found someone, somewhere, some hospital. Got some blood. Got some meds. We dug the bullets out ourselves, she and I, and she sewed him up best she could. I still don't know how he lived. Even with her stealing blood and meds he got so sick...and of course she paid for helping us. More innocent blood for him to spend his life washing off his hands. She called one day, couple months later. Said she was being followed and couldn't shake 'em. Told me to grab Murphy and go. He could barely stand, we had no place to go, but we ran. She wouldn't let us tell her where. She was afraid if they caught up to her they might make her tell. Murphy found her obit a week later. So yeah, Bodhi, I do know we're dangerous people. I do get it. Christ, this day. Can I have another beer?"

"Course you can, it's yours. Everything in here is yours. How long ago was this, Connor?"

Connor, trying to extricate himself from Murphy without waking him, didn't answer, and while he was rattling around in his unfamiliar kitchen, Bodhi found his eyes drawn to Murphy's hands. Sound asleep, clearly dreaming, he was scrubbing them against his legs, endlessly.

 

Murphy was in blood hell. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went...blood. He knew this blood, it was the blood of children. Of innocents. People who had never harmed anyone, who had tried to help him. Tried to help Connor. People who had died so that he, an assassin, a killer, one God had long since turned his back on, could live. Of all the worthless lives, to have been paid for with this sea of innocent blood. In his dream, he cried and his tears were blood.

 

"What's he doing?"

Connor, crossing back into the room with a beer for each of them, followed Bodhi s gaze and sighed, feeling the old, familiar ache settle over him. Murphy and his blood. He took the chair next to Bodhi, not wanting to jostle Murphy any more. "He's trying to get the blood off. It's what he does. Sometimes even when he's awake. And it was five years ago, that mess in his middle."

"What blood?"

"Well...He says innocent blood. People who've died, who didn't deserve to, because of us. I think he bleeds a little inside for all of them, and it's all stuck to his hands, but there are two he's just eaten up by. He has nightmares about them. Real crying, screaming, neighbors calling the cops nightmares, bitchy as hell to bring him out of. I'm gonna wake him up, just in case. It's been a rough day. I'm guessing this place comes with a bed?"

"It comes with two."

His voice, shaking, nearly teary, pulled Connor’s attention from Murphy. One look and he was at Bodhi’s side, one hand, gentle, on the back of his neck, the other turning his face to meet his eyes.

"Bodhi. Tell me."

"I can't tell you."

Connor pulled him a little closer. "Are we back to that again?" His hand, stroking gentle little circles on the back of the boys neck, stopped for a moment, feeling something unexpected under his fingers, and an equally unexpected unpleasant glint of memory, gone almost...almost... before he noticed it. "Don't cry for him, Bodhi. His guilt is his own, displaced though it may be. Without it he'd be naught but a killer." He hugged him briefly, eyes flicking to his neck, eyes going dark, let him go.

"I'm going to wake him and get him to bed. Which way do I go?"

"There's a bedroom at each end. They're the same."

"Don't leave. We've got something to talk about, the two of us."

Murphy, sleepy but, for the moment, free of pain, got up fairly amiably at Connor’s request, with only a token grumble about being woken up just to go to sleep. He stopped in front of Bodhi, taking him in. Impulsively, not expecting it himself, he hugged him, more surprised still when the boy’s arms went around him instantly, tightly. Clinging. He felt him shaking, looked past him at Connor, who shook his head. Don't ask. Puzzled, he gently released himself, looking into the boys eyes. It came again, a flash of blood, of someone screaming, then gone. Nothing left but this boy, innately good, decent, familiar.

Familiar?

He felt Connor’s arm around him, guiding him away, and he went willingly enough, puzzling over Bodhi’s familiarity in his mind.

He might have slipped fully into brooding, but delight over the bed he suddenly found himself staring at drove it away. It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed, and this was one of those plushy extremes of cushiness he'd been making fun of all of his life.

"Oh my God, Connor, I get to actually sleep on this?"

"Well, no, Murph, it's just for show. You actually sleep on the floor underneath it."

Murphy's good natured "fuck off" and none too weak punch in the head did wonders for Connor’s worry. Murphy looked and sounded better than he had in a week.

"Y'know Murphy, I get one too. All the way the other side the house."

He'd been going for the smile, and he got it. "Aw, Conn, your own room, just like the big kids. That's awesome. Don't wake me up when you come climb in with me."

He stretched out carefully, waiting for the warning twinge in his belly he'd become used to, felt it hit, rode it out. No better or worse than usual. His mood shifted and he grabbed for Connor’s hand, pulling him in. "Stay for a minute Conn, yeah?"

Connor laid down next to him, felt him push closer, reaching out, holding on. He hugged him, held him, for the moment just glad to have him.

"What Murphy."

He knew what. Bodhi.

"That kid, Conn. He's sweet, all the way to his soul, and he LOVES us, did you feel that?"

"I did."

"Why would he?"

"I'm not sure, Murph. He's..."

"Keeping something secret."

"Yeah."

"I see things, when I look at him, Conn. Blood."

"You always see blood"

"Different blood."

"Oh. Different blood. You're crazy. But I know what you mean. He's..."

"Familiar."

"Yeah. I might know why."

"Why?"

"Let me find out first. "

"It's like that?"

"I think so." He sat up, over his brothers protests that he should stay.

"I'll come back, Murphy. You're not sleeping alone tonight. No way. You scared me, you fuck. "

"I scared me, Conn."

"I know. I'm gonna go talk to him. Do you think we're safe here, Murph?"

"I know we are. Go talk to him."

 

He half expected him to be gone, but the kid was right where he'd left him, beer in one hand, smoke in the other, eyes far off, dreaming. When he spoke his voice was distant.

"He ok?"

"For now. I wasn't sure you'd stay."

"I've got nowhere I have to be. You two were my whole day’s agenda. Who does he dream about, Connor?"

"Why do you care?"

"He doesn't deserve guilt. Neither of you do. Guilt doesn't stop you from being a killer. Conscience does."

"Well, where else does guilt come from? Conscience calls, guilt answers. At least he still has a soul."

"So do you."

"Maybe. I've had my doubts for a long time. Bodhi..."

It was harder than he'd thought it would be and he found himself wishing for his saint, knowing it wasn't going to be. For this he was going to have to get by on his own.

"When you said you couldn't tell me...what happens if I...if I know it on my own?"

"Nothing."

"Then why not lie and say I figured it out? Is the room bugged? Would anybody know?"

"Nobody would know. But I agreed to keep my mouth shut in exchange for help for you. That's what I agreed on, that's what I'll do."

"No matter what."

"No matter what."

"I'm a fucking assassin, Bodhi!"

"Aaand, you're not gonna kill me. You have too much integrity to kill someone just to get information. Although maybe I should rethink that...your moral compass is a little loose."

He ignored Connor’s look of surprised indignation, hauled himself out of his chair, feeling every second the day had put him through, and headed for a cabinet at the end of the room. "This, Connor, is your liquor. I'm drinking as much of it as possible before I pass out. You?"

"Fuck yeah! Are you old enough to drink that?"

"I'm 27."

"No shit. Why are we drinking? And don't think you're gonna fuck me up. Murphy's in the other room and he's sick. I need to know what's going on."

"Do I?"

"Fuck no."

"We're drinking because it's been a rough day, by the way."

"It has at that. Tell me about this loose moral compass."

"You've both had friends you should have killed."

Connor nodded, unoffended. It was true. "I told you, that saints business is bullshit. We're men, nothing more. And when it started we were boys."

"I know. I guess I expected you to still be."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"That's what Murphy said."

"Yeah. Twins."

They drank in silence, Connor trying to sort out what he wanted to say, Bodhi waiting, wishing he didn't have to let him say it.

Finally, realizing there was no easy way, Connor jumped in.

"I'll tell you who he dreams about."

"Ok."

"Of course one is Maura. I told you about her. She wasn't the worst. She wasn't even the worst lesson. Why do you think it is that every lesson we have to learn is printed in blood?"

"Assassins."

"Point. We had a friend, not one you would have thought needed to be killed. We loved him, Bodhi, loved him. We trusted him implicitly, we trusted him with our lives, and he sold us out. He knew about us, y'know, knew we wouldn't shoot if there were kids around. Women. Regular people who'd never done anything. No...Fuck. We didn't want anybody caught in it, we didn't want...Fuck I don't have the word."

"Collateral damage."

"Yes. He knew that. He knew that and he used it to set us up. He fed us bad information, led us into a scene full of mothers with babes, little kids...we knew as soon as we got there that nothin was goin down there. Not with us, we wouldn't DO that. We still didn't know it was a setup. We just knew it couldn't happen, not there. We left...and they were waiting. He'd told them. Told them we'd see all the kids and leave. They'd have taken us. We were standing so close, one head shot would have taken us both. We never even saw them coming. It was so fast. One minute we were putting stuff in the trunk of the car, the next there was a shot. One shot, meant for our heads. Except it never hit us. There was a shot, a blur, and a kid on the ground, just a little kid, and Murphy was screaming at me, I don't know what, covered in blood, on the ground with his hands INSIDE this little kid’s neck. The shot took him, instead. Not by mistake, either. I didn't see it. Murphy did. There were other people there that did. This little kid, this little boy, he jumped in front of us. Jumped down from somewhere, I guess, or jumped up. Either way he did it deliberately. It took him in the throat. Murphy had him, had his hands INSIDE him, trying to stop the bleeding. He was yelling at me that we had to help him. Bullets were still flying, I don't know who was shooting at who, only that we weren't. I looked at this kid, and Jesus I was so fucking sick. There was no way this kid wasn't dead already, at least that's what I thought. His eyes were open, staring at me, his throat looked like it was gone."

"Murphy's the one who has nightmares about this?"

"Oh, I do too. I do too. It all was so fast...He wasn't letting go, I was trying to tell him the kid was already gone, trying to get him out of there. He came right at me, dropped the kid, grabbed my face with his fucking hands bloody to here and screamed in my face. "He's fucking still alive! Help him or I'll fucking kill you!" And then he had him again. He would have killed me, y'know. Right then, to him, I fit the profile. Evil man dead man. I helped him get in the car with his hands still in there. Drove till I found a hospital. I kept asking and he kept telling me the kid was still alive. I remember telling him, there's no way he's gonna make it, Murph. He wouldn't hear it. We finally got to a hospital, he carried him in and wouldn't leave until he'd given him TO someone. Made someone responsible, I don't know. He didn't want to leave at all, not until he knew, but someone had called the cops, sirens were coming…there was a nurse, she was being so sweet to Murphy. Trying to calm him down, trying to get him to leave with me."

"She knew who you were."

"Yeah. Then the nurse who was behind her, working on the kid, said he had no blood pressure. The sweet one, she looked at Murphy and said "sweetheart, he's not gonna make it. There's just no way. You need to go now."

Murphy, he was just...wrecked. We got back to the car and there was so much blood...he just flew apart. I'd never seen him like that. He cried himself sick, over and over and over. In his whole life I'd never seen him cry like that. Nor since. I was too, didn't even know it. I kept crossing over the line because I couldn't see. Murphy finally made me pull over. That little boy took a bullet for us. Deliberately. We couldn't fathom it then, we can't fathom it now. It's...unthinkable.

Murphy called that hospital every day for weeks, just trying to get an answer. Nobody would tell him anything. They finally told him to stop calling. He blamed me for a while. Said I made it happen by saying he was dead when he wasn't. For a while I believed him. We left the car on the side of the road. We couldn't get back in it."

He looked up at Bodhi, too many emotions fighting for control, caught, unaware that he was crying as he spoke.

"That’s the blood he's been trying to get off his hands. Fifteen years he's been trying. He goes to sleep at night and he wakes up screaming, dreaming he's drowning in blood. Me, I just see that little boys eyes, staring at me while I told him he was already dead."

He stopped, had to stop before he started screaming. Had to stop and let some of it pass. Had to stop before he got his gun and shot the kid beside him. He'd known who he was talking to, hadn't known it would shake him so much. He didn't want to hurt him, was desperately afraid he would anyway.

Bodhi waited, knowing how much danger he was in in this moment. Wishing he could touch him, betting his life that he couldn't. If it had just been fifteen years’ worth of pent up grief, finally coming out, he might have tried.

He knew it was more, knew what was coming, wanted it to happen even as it terrified him.

And so he waited for Connor, trying to stay quiet, trying to let him come to it on his own, trying not to cry. He watched him sitting, his head in his hands, trying to be quiet, not wanting to wake his brother, pulling at his own hair, very much as Murphy had been doing, finally bringing blood.  
As it had been with Murphy, it was Bodhi s tipping point. He couldn't sit and watch them make themselves bleed.

Defying every one of Connor’s very clear signals to stay away, Bodhi moved in, taking his hands, as he had Murphy's, pulling them down. "Please, Connor. Don't hurt yourself."

He'd expected Connor to pull away and he was ready for it. He was by no means ready for what Connor actually did.

Connor, who by the time Bodhi took his hands had pretty well calmed himself down, took no exception to Bodhi’s intervention. He'd been expecting it sooner, and would have accepted it. He knew he'd probably scared the life outta the poor kid, that one horrible moment when he'd wanted to shoot him had been pretty clearly broadcast. He was a little surprised it hadn't drawn Murphy.  
When Bodhi took his hands, he let him, pulled him in, stared again into those eyes, making sure. And then gently, slowly, he didn't want to spook him, he pulled down his collar, revealing the scarring he'd felt earlier when he'd rubbed the boys neck.

He only looked for a second, shifting his gaze back up to his eyes. Eyes he'd looked into and told they were dead. Eyes that looked at him now with concern, nothing else. No anger. No accusation. Just worry for him.

Guilt and shame fought in him, overwhelming, and all he could do was try to hold on. There were no words in existence for this. Certainly no apologies.

"You took that bullet for us."

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

And wasn't this great, now they were both crying.

"How are you alive?"

"I don't know."

"Bodhi...Why did you DO that?"


	6. Chapter 6

Connor stood, looking down at the boy sleeping on his couch. This strange, sweet savior of a boy who loved them so completely, so much so that he'd been willing to trade his life for theirs. Twice now, if he took into consideration the fact that he'd been more than willing to give up his home for them.

This boy who kept saving them.

He still didn't know why. Bodhi, completely undone with relief that Connor knew who he was, and why he'd brought them here...though, thinking about that he still wasn't sure why having almost died for them would inspire him to go out on that dark ledge again...and more than a little done in, hadn't told him anymore. Only that he'd heard Connor’s words, that night, and had agreed with them. If he'd been able to speak, he'd told him, he'd have been telling Murphy to let him go, and RUN. He'd been terrified, not that he'd die. That they would die. That they'd waste the chance he'd bought them. That if he'd been angry at anyone, that night, it had been Murphy, not Connor, and really he hadn't even been angry with him. He'd just needed them to get away. They'd told him Murphy had saved him, but beyond that he'd never known how he'd survived.

Beyond that he hadn't been able to talk anymore. Spent, drunk and exhausted he'd finally just stopped making sense.

Connor'd stopped him, then. Hugged him, held him, let him be, and when he'd finally fallen asleep he'd gotten pillows a blankets from the bed he guessed must be his, now, settled the kid on the couch and let him sleep.

He'd been watching him for a while.

He didn't know it, he never knew it, but most of the time he'd been standing there he'd been Connor the Saint, that crystal clarity looking in deep.

There was absolutely no duplicity in this boy, and his loyalty to them was unshakeable, as was his love for them. He would never sell them out. He could never be bought. Comfortable with that, and with the trust this boy had for whoever 'they' we're, the people running the rest of this show, he was content, for the moment, to let them rest.

He still had questions. Who were these other people? Why we're they doing this? How had they found them? How did they even know the brothers needed help? How, who, why, when...an endless litany of questions and dark suspicion.

They'd all have to wait. The kid was totaled, and if he was being honest, so was he. And of course there was Murphy. Murphy, who, he suspected, was dying by inches, right in front of him. They all had to break, even if just for the rest of the night.

Half a lifetime of habit had him locking doors, checking windows, gathering guns, and when he'd done all of that he spared one last look at the sleeping boy.

He'd kept something back. Something else personal to them. He knew it the same way he knew that, whatever it was, it wasn't Bodhi’s secret to tell, and that the kid didn't like it, didn't agree with it.

Sighing, knowing it was time to let it go, at least for tonight, he shut off the lights and went to Murphy. He might have his own room, his own bed, but Murphy had been right to tease him about not using it. He wouldn't. He slept with Murphy, when he slept at all.

He'd known his brother was awake before he reached the room, realized he'd likely been awake all night, blocking that link between them that tuned them together so completely. He'd been halfway to the door when the block came down, shaking him a little when he realized he hadn't noticed it in the first place.

But then, of course he had. Hadn't surprise that his brief, murderous, impulse toward Bodhi hadn't brought Murphy running been at the top of his mind? Of course it had. If he'd been less shaken he'd have known his brother was wide awake and blocking him.

Fucking Murphy.

He climbed in with him, barely a moment to register just how fucking wonderful this bed was, before he had his arms full of Murphy, clinging to him like a limpet, face wet with tears.

He'd been crying for a while, quietly, not wanting to bring Connor before he was ready. His hair was wet, his pillow, and Connor felt the headache pulsing behind his brothers eyes.

"Aw...Murph. Don't."

He hated to see him cry.

"It'll be ok. You should feel better. You saved him."

"I know."

"But you don't, huh?"

"No."

"You're glad he's alive, yeah?"

He knew he was, he just needed to get him to say it, knew he needed to hear himself say it.

"I'm thanking fuckin God he's alive, Conn."

"I thought you didn't believe in God, anymore."

"If I did, then."

"Then why you cryin', Murph?"

"Why're you?"

"Am I?"

He felt Murphy's hand brush his face, saw it in the faint light coming through the window, glimmering.

"I just feel so fucking bad, Murph. That it even happened. Even if he lived, it's fucking..."

"Unthinkable."

"Unthinkable. I wanted to kill him, Murphy. Just for a second when it hit me it was true. If he'd touched me, right then..."

"You wouldn't have hurt him, Conn."

"I think I would've"

"Think what you want. You think too much. I KNOW. You wouldn't have."

"You don't know what it felt like."

"Don't I?"

And of course, he did. Of course he did. It was how it had always been.

Connor thought.

Murphy felt.

There had never been a moment of their lives that Murphy, tuned in in a way Connor could never be, hadn't felt what Connor felt. Hadn't been able to sift through the tangle of his brothers thoughts, navigate the twisting, sticky knot of continual analysis in his brother’s head and get right to the feeling behind it all.

Sighing, pulling him close, just loving him, Connor held on. He didn't want to talk anymore. Just wanted to be here, safe and sleepy and loved.

He'd just started to drift off when he felt Murphy's thumb brush his nipple, startling awake with a hiss, felt his brother tight against him, shaking.

"Jesus, Murphy! No! You're sick, you're not ok enough for this."

Murphy didn't stop, didn't accept the protest.

"I am if it's slow, Conn. I am if it's easy. I am if it stays like this."

"I don't know if I can stay awake..."

Even as he spoke, Connor was drifting, Murphy's hands on him slow, gentle, stroking. Erotic and soothing at the same time.

"That's ok. Neither do I..."

And so it took them, this unbelievably erotic mix, needing to sleep, needing to feel...something that didn't hurt.

They drifted, sometimes together, sometimes not, the night filled with never ending slow, easy stroking, gentle touches, warmth, kisses, both of them always close, so close, right there, hours and hours and hours, never coming down, falling asleep only to wake again, still right there, right on the edge, intense. Dreamy. Strange. Coming, together, finally, just as intense, just as dreamy, somehow surreal.

Holding on, they finally slept, and this night, there were no dreams.


	7. Interlude

The days had blurred.

Self-segregated, in hell, they pushed the world away. Phone batteries ran to dead, ignored. They weren't making any calls, and they sure weren't receiving any, unaware any longer that the outside world even existed.

Television off, internet unused, food uneaten, cigarettes unsmoked, door unanswered, unheard.

Had anyone occasion to come in they'd have thought nobody lived there.

They never left the house, never left Murphy's room.

As far as either of them could tell, Murphy was dying, and the heavily advertised help was consistently failing to arrive.

They didn't know how many days it had been since the pain, monumental and unspeakable, had returned. Since he'd stopped holding anything down beyond tiny sips of water, hours apart. Since the fever had come on, raging, untouchable. Since he'd lost the strength to sit up, turn over, speak. How many days Connor sat there, watching him breathe, waiting for him to stop.

They hadn't thought it would be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

That it couldn't change...that nobody could help them...if nobody knew about it, didn't occur to either of them.

 

It was the residuals, Connor would think later, as he alternately sat there chain smoking and pacing that unending gray hall, that had driven them into themselves, made them forget that things had changed.

They'd never had a chance to get used to it, still thinking of themselves as plague bearers, too dangerous to anyone they chanced taking into their world. It might have been different if they'd had a little more time, a little more light, a little more contact. If they'd had just a little more time to realize that things had changed.

Great ifs, and since when had 'if only' ever done anyone any good?

Knowing that didn't help. He couldn't stop thinking back, replaying the days that had brought them to this, seeing everything they should have done differently. Done right.

And of course, as nothing else helpful had occurred to him, neither did the unalienable fact that there WAS no right or wrong here. Only people, and what the world had done to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no other way to make it come together.


	8. Chapter 8

Murphy found it strange, in point of fact a good deal more than strange, that the revelation that the boy they thought had died for them was in fact alive, well, and still looking out for them, hadn't had a more profound effect.

Any effect at all, really.

Beyond that first overly emotionally charged night, nothing much seemed to have changed. He'd been gone when they woke up, and Murphy, unused to caring much about anyone but Connor, hadn't even realized his feelings were hurt. That he'd wanted to talk to him. He'd passed off his vague discontent as the result of a rough day, strange night, and moved on.

More than passing strange, for all of his 'I love you' vibe that first day, the kid didn't come around, and Murphy didn't get it. It bothered him on some deep, visceral, anxiety provoking level he didn't understand. Friends had become something of an alien concept, but not so much that he didn't know he'd thought he'd found one.

He'd mentioned it to Connor, who'd waved it away. "The kid didn't come with the place, Murph. He got us here. He set our minds to rest about him. What more did you want?" 

The nightmares hadn't even stopped. So much for great revelations. 

He didn't see much to celebrate in this notion of 'home', either. Aside from the hot water and pillows, it didn't seem much different than the hundreds of abandoned factories they'd holed up in. Still not knowing who was running this whole show, where they were, or even who was in the building, made him edgy, and he still slept with every sense on high.

He knew Connor did, too, but by some unspoken agreement they never mentioned it. They kept their guns with them, unthinkingly slept in shifts...just as they had for years. Status quo.

The water stayed hot, the lights stayed on, and he supposed that was really all he could expect. That the idea of home was intrinsically linked, in his mind, with human contact, family, friends, love, never even dawned on him, and he'd have laughed at anyone who suggested that this whole thing had made him lonely.

He just knew he was unsettled.

And of course there was the Saints thing.

They were still in it, unable to justify a way out. No longer feeling called by God, something neither of them could any longer bring himself to believe in, but called by conscience. They'd started this, with no defined end, and being men of integrity they felt honor bound to continue until they could no longer, physically, do it. Because they could, they did.

And because he thought he had to, he kept to himself just how close he was to not being able to do it, do anything, anymore. 

He wasn't hiding a thing.

Connor, just as unsettled, just as confused about where everybody was...sometimes waking up at night with the eerie feeling that they were completely alone in an empty building...was more focused on Murphy than he'd ever been in his life.

Murphy's on again off again illness rattled him to his core. He never knew how he'd find him. Perfectly fine, albeit a little more pale, a little more gaunt, or in agony on the bathroom floor, vomiting his life away, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Bodhi had told him there were doctors here, that he'd brought them here for just that reason, but he didn't come around. Nobody did.

On his own, he watched his brother, looking for a pattern. It didn't take him long to find it.

He was fine as long as he didn't eat. And it was strange, this thing. It let him eat without any problem and he'd seem fine for hours. Hours. Long past the time anyone would think to expect trouble. Then the pain would hit, worse each time, hours of it, spiraling up, out of control, relieved by nothing until the inevitable vomiting hit, hours there too, until everything, everything, was gone. It only took a couple of times for him to realize that, no matter how many hours passed, his brother wasn't holding on to anything. Ever.

They didn't talk about it. They didn't need to. They both knew. It went unmentioned until the night finally came, a job, a big one, and Connor, for the first time in his life, took Murphy's gun out of his hand.

"No, Murph."

He put both of their guns away, more alarmed by Murphy's silence than he'd ever been by anything.

They didn't speak. Murphy left him standing there, went to his room, undressed, went to bed, and when Connor went in a few hours later, the fever had set in.

He did everything he could think of to bring it down. Cold water, ice packs, forcing down water that only came up again a minute later. Hours, hours, hours, days, nights, the lines blurred and Connor’s world narrowed to nothing but Murphy. Ice, water, sweat, vomit, tears, pain...Murphy. Finally giving up and just lying there holding him, waiting for him to stop breathing.

Because it had been so many years since they'd been able to call for help, they didn't even consider it. Because everyone in this new place had vanished and left them on their own, they never thought to look for them. Because they weren't used to people anymore, they pulled in, forgetting there was anyone in the world but them.

Because they didn't THINK, it never occurred to either of them that maybe help was there. That maybe they hadn't been abandoned. That maybe the people who had brought them here were just trying to give them some time. Some space. Or that normal people, in this case anyone other than them, when told help was there, would ask for it if they needed it. That maybe the people who had taken them in didn't know just how isolated their world was, how thoroughly they'd separated themselves from humanity as a whole, how completely they were able to forget that other people existed. How utterly insane they'd become in the hellish life they lived for what they considered merely acts of good conscience.

That nobody knew they wouldn't say a thing, even if one of them was dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took chapter 9 down. I was being hassled and it was junk. The real chapter nine will be up tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

Of course, at the end...or what he'd thought was the end, it had been Bodhi. Of course. Who else could it have been?

When Murphy had stopped speaking, not by choice but because he no longer had the strength, Connor, faced with the inevitable, had effectively shut down.

His world had narrowed, his whole miserable life coming down to his brother, this horror show in front of him. No longer recognizable as Murphy, and no longer linked to him, sending that forever comforting Murphyness into his mind, his soul...and wasn't that interesting that it had gone down while he was still, technically at least, alive. He'd always thought it would be a moment of death thing and never in a million lifetimes could have tumbled to the truth, that Murphy had shut it down. An act of compassion, of mercy. He didn't want his brother to feel him die.

Connor, unaware of this, cut loose and in free fall, for all intents and purposes dead already, had gone for his gun and waited. Murphy's last breath would be his own. It was nothing so impassioned as 'one goes down we both go down' though he suspected people would think so. It was just that he knew, the way he knew to breathe, that as connected as they'd become his mind would be gone as soon as Murphy's was. He could already feel it, and he was damned if he'd spend the remainder of his life as a useless, empty, effectively lobotomized burden to whoever found it necessary to keep him alive.

No, there would be none of that. And so he waited.

There'd been a moment, mercifully brief, when Murphy had looked at him, eyes so full of so much pain, none of this sorrowful, sentimental, tearjerker movie heartbreak but real, actual, unbearable physical agony that Connor had put the gun to his head. For that one second it had seemed the kindest thing he could do. He'd almost done it, had intended to do it, had the gun cocked and pressed to his brothers head...and there had been undeniable relief in Murphy's eyes.

He hadn't done it.

It hadn't been a choice...one minute his finger was squeezing the trigger, the next he was across the room, the gun unloaded, his brother still breathing. He didn't know why he'd stopped, why he'd unloaded the gun, those moments didn't exist in his consciousness.

He didn't question it. He reloaded the gun, knowing now that he was only free to use it on himself. And he waited.

Murphy knew. He'd seen. While his body had shut down, and he could feel every single second of it happening, his mind stubbornly refused to let go. He'd certainly had enough. He'd thought there must be limits to the amount of pain a human body could tolerate before the mind fled, but he knew now that wasn't the case. It just went on and on and on, and he kept breathing, kept feeling, kept thinking through no act of will on his part, but simply because his body wouldn't give up and die.

When he'd seen the understanding in Connor’s eyes, saw him raise the gun, felt it at his head his only feeling was blessed relief. Connor knew. Connor would stop the pain.

Connor would. He'd have done anything for Murphy, up to and including killing him.

Connor, his brother, would.

Connor, the Saint, wasn't having it.

Murphy saw it happen. Saw his brothers eyes, so full of compassion and love...change. Of course he'd seen it before but this time it shattered him. The love, the warmth, the empathy...gone. He looked into cold blue steel, and while there was no judgement in those eyes there was no sentiment, either. Those eyes, full of uncanny wisdom and cold practicality, unequivocally said no. It wouldn't let Connor kill him.

He'd watched him cross the room, unload the gun, heard him speaking...to him? To himself? Murphy didn't know, couldn't understand him, but when he returned he was just Connor. Defeated.

They waited together.

How much time passed neither of them knew. Murphy'd started to drift, let it happen, sorry for Connor but so ready for it to all be over. His vision had misted over, the room, his brother gone in a fog he found soothing. Aware that he was still breathing. A technicality.

Connor'd seen him fade out, knew they were close, felt his grief drop away. Soon. Soon.

He was lost in it. So lost he never heard the knocks at the door, never heard his name, Murphy's, nothing. His world was the sound of Murphy breathing, and the gun in his hand. Everything else...gone.

So far gone he didn't really even register the next few moments. Somewhere there was noise. Didn't matter, it had nothing to do with him.

Then the hands grabbed his FACE, grabbed his GUN, and he heard his name, shouted curses as someone SHOOK him...and some of the fog cleared.

Bodhi, standing in front of him, something...shouting something. Why the fuck was he yelling? He saw him look at Murphy, understood, tried to explain. "Oh. No. He's not dead. Not yet…" spared a glance at his brother. "Soon, though, I think." He hoped so. Enough was enough, after all.

He heard the kid yelling at him, didn't know what. Saw him yelling down a phone and something, some spark he hadn't known was still alive flared up inside, the hope that they might still have a chance.

Bodhi wanted to slap him, killer or no killer, saint or no saint. Anything to knock him out of that numb, stupid vacancy.

It would have to wait, though. Murphy, Murphy first. It was probably already too late but there was no way in hell they wouldn't try. He'd already called and he knew his people would be here in seconds.

He hoped they still had seconds.

He took him in, horrified. It had been little more than a week, how could this have happened? Already thin, he was now nearly skeletal, color somewhere between yellow and grey, eyes black, sunken. His belly, horribly distended, rock hard, and when he pressed it, gently, that thing on the bed he'd been sure was already dead, SCREAMED. Became Murphy again, and he found himself babbling at him, what he didn't know. Meaningless nonsense, anything to keep him awake, keep him Murphy.

Everything became a blur.

Holding Connor back, Connor, who had gone for his twin with a vengeance when he'd heard him scream. Dragging him out of the room as soon as his people arrived, and really it had been only seconds, pinning him while they got Murphy out, letting Connor hit him, threaten him, scream at him, yelling back in his face that they weren't taking him anywhere he'd be hurt, that they were trying to SAVE him, that nobody here would hurt either of them, and finally, when Connor BIT him, hauling back and finally hitting him back, shocking him into a temporary cease fire.

Pinning him to the wall, in his face, not giving a damn that this man was a trained killer, he pushed against him, grabbed him, held him.

He felt him grab on, knew he was back, and just held on. He'd find out later why they hadn't called for help. Murphy was already with the only people who could possibly save him.

It was on him to save Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete rewrite.


	10. Chapter 10

He paced. Smoked. Sat down only to be on his feet again a moment later, anxiety roiling in his gut, flaming in his veins. He couldn't sit still, couldn't think, continually fighting the dreamy, fainting sensation of his brain trying to shut down, refusing to let it. If he shut down he wouldn't feel anything, and he didn't deserve the peace.

The helpless numbness of the last few days had lifted and he'd understood, suddenly and with great finality, what they'd done. What they hadn't even realized they were doing. Why had they just done nothing? Why we're they like this? How hard would it have been, really, to just call Bodhi?"

Ah well, hindsight was 20/20. Fuck hindsight. All that meant was he was too stupid to see what was right in front of him. 

And so, he paced this unforgiving grey hall, smoking himself sick, and how stupid WAS THAT, anyway? Clearly smoking till he threw up was bound to make him feels worlds better. Of course it made complete sense to do it again. Maybe he just wasn't as miserable as he felt he deserved to be. Disgusted with himself, furious and terrified, jittering apart, and they'd left him alone, again.

There had been someone with him, at first. Some woman he'd never seen before, a meaningless, incomprehensible babble pouring forth from her until he'd wanted to scream. For all he knew, he had. He'd known why she was there. They'd sent her in to babysit him. She was sure nowhere to be found, now.

He didn't know what he'd done, what he'd said...He was fairly sure he hadn't hit her, though he'd surely wanted to, but she'd gone skittering away and here he was, alone with himself. He'd have rather been with her. At least he didn't hate her. He loathed himself.

It felt like hours, in reality only minutes but those minutes seemed infinite.

His confusion was absolute. He had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten here, where they'd taken Murphy. There had just been a sudden eruption of noise and strangers, people yelling at him, yelling at Murphy. He'd heard him scream, once, tried to get to him, utterly unable even to find him.

And then Bodhi'd had him, and that was one tiny thread to hang by. He didn't known how he'd done it... although of course later it would seem obvious. He hadn't eaten or slept in days. A good sized toddler could have probably taken him...but the kid had held him there until everyone was gone, refusing to let go, yelling at anyone who came near to get away, until everything, finally, had gone quiet, and he'd taken Connor’s hand. "Come on."

He knew he hadn't left the house, yet somehow he was in some unmistakable medical nightmare of a hall.

Defaulting to instinct, hospitals equal murder, he didn't even try to quell the panic taking him over. Panic was good, panic meant that the first motherfucker who tried to come after him would be the last.

They had his brother.

He didn't even know if he was still alive. He'd always thought he'd know, that the connectedness they shared would tell him, but hadn't Murphy shut that down early the fucker, hadn't he gone and done it and where in the name of God did that leave him?

Connor, on the edge of destruction, screaming inchoately at nothing, ripping his hair out, climbing the walls, insane...alone in the middle of a vast, grey wasteland.

When warm hands took his, he should have at least been startled, more likely should have knocked whoever'd dared to touch him into a wall.

Neither, he felt only an absurd "of course" as he looked up at Bodhi, once again extracting his pulling hands from his hair, none too gently it seemed to Connor, holding something out to him.

"Connor. Take this."

Water, a pill. Fuck no, they weren't drugging him. He already knew how that went. He knew what kind of place he was in.

The rapidly receding, coherent part of his mind tried to tell him. This was Bodhi. This was different. He wasn't buying it.

"I'm not fucking taking that."

Bodhi, hanging on to patience by a thread, not really cogent of the state of Connor’s mind, simply stepped in. Implacable.

"Take it."

"Fuck off."

Pacing again, avoiding the kid with his poison drugs...and didn't that thought seem just the slightest bit paranoid? The tiniest bit crazy? His rational mind tried again, failed again.

His hands were back in his hair, pulling. It wasn't enough. He wanted to smack his head into the wall until his mind shut off, until his obsessive reaching for Murphy, down the link the goddamn fuck had shut down, was obliterated.

Bodhi, just as irrational, fought simply not to hit him.

"Connor, you're totalled. Take it."

"I'm not fucking taking it. I'm not letting you kill me."

Bodhi heard his voice start to rise, fought to bring it back down. Yelling at him wouldn't help.

"That statement, right there, is why you're taking it. You're gonna lose it and you're gonna hurt someone. Take the fucking...oh goddamn it, you inconvenient son of a bitch!"

His temper rose as Connor smacked the glass out of his hand. "What the fuck!"

Connor stood, arms folded, immovable as a tank. "Come near me again it'll be your head. Where's my brother."

"He's alive..."

"Where. Is he."

Bodhi felt his temper slip another notch.

He knew Connor was wrecked, knew he was scared, knew his history, but the stupid fuck had spent a week holed up in a bedroom, waiting for his brother to die, in a veritable crowd of people who wanted nothing more than to help him. He was an idiot and Bodhi wasn't about to stand here and be bullied by him.

Hindsight, once again, being what it was, would suggest to both of them that perhaps this hadn't been the best time to be confrontational. In the present they were both way too upset to see anything.

Bodhi saw his shot, took it, with a flat, blank viciousness that on a deeply visceral level scared even him. He hadn't known that part of him existed.

"He's three fucking doors down the hall Connor, with a whole team of surgeons trying to figure out how to knock him out long enough to even try to put him back together without killing him. They did a scan of his insides. They don't bear any resemblance, anymore, to normal human anatomy. Everything they hoped to fix is already dead inside him, Connor. Good fucking job."

He turned and left, didn't even look to see what effect, if any his words had had. He hoped they made him sick. 

He'd expected Connor to follow him. He wasn't disappointed. Silently, refusing to acknowledge him, he reached into a cupboard, replaced the tablet Connor had knocked out of his hand, filled another cup, focusing on nothing but the mechanics of it, swallowed the pill himself, considered, took another one. If he was going to get through this day he was doing it with help.

Fuck it.

He pulled out another one, fought to gentle down his tone. His anger wouldn't help, and God...he didn't think he'd even known what anger was before now, held it out too Connor.

"Take it."

"No."

"It won't hurt you. You'll feel so much better."

"And I should trust you why? Wasn't it you was gonna 'help' us? Where the fuck was all your help when we needed it?"

So much for gentle.

"We were right there. Connor, we were right there. YOU never told us you needed us. Take the fucking pill."

They'd attracted a little audience and Bodhi didn't mind one bit. Connor, so far gone, was scaring the hell out of him.

Met with utterly defiant silence, he stepped into Connor’s space, sending up a little prayer that he wasn't about to get his ass handed to him.

"These are your options, Conn..."

He'd used the diminutive unthinkingly, and missed the surprised wonder that crossed Connor’s face.

"You can take the fucking pill, we can sit down, and when you feel a little better we can try to figure this all out, OR those guys right there can pin you down and trank the living shit outta you and you won't wake up till tomorrow. Is that something you really wanna do? Take the fucking pill."

He'd expected a fight. He couldn't have been more surprised.

Somehow disarmed by the use of the nickname, and why it would have effected him he'd never be able to say, Connor gave up, gave in. Eyes filling, he dropped onto one of the little sofas lining the walls, dropped his head into his hands and quit.

Bodhi, temper cooling instantly, was beside him in a blink, slipping an arm around him, not about to let it go.

"Take this."

Sighing, Connor eyed it with suspicion.

"What's it gonna do?"

"Just take the edge off. Stop you doing all this...” He brushed bloody hair from Connor’s face.

"I really don't want it, Bodhi."

"I know. But you need it. And in case you're thinking about going all creepy eyed serial killer on me, he needs it too. Take the fucking pill, Conn, yeah?"

"Why are you so fucking calm?"

"Well because I took a fucking pill."

"It gonna knock me out?"

"No."

Connor sighed, leaning in to Bodhi, needing contact. Bodhi, still well beyond angry, still hating him a little, forced himself not to pull away. He'd already hurt him. He didn't want to do it again. "Take the fucking pill, Conn."

Sighing, defeated and exhausted, Connor held out his hand." Fine. Gimme the fucking pill."

They waited together, waited for something to happen, someone to say something, someone to tell them something.


	11. Chapter 11

The world went strange, developed a bizarre, staccato rhythm. A video on fast forward.

Bodhi'd parked him on a sofa, uncomfortably backed up to the nurses station, effectively placing him in the round, shot him a glare, and gone...somewhere, leaving him on display in the middle of everything. Having dealt, more or less exclusively, with only one person for nearly half his life, suddenly finding himself in the middle of the ant farm was jarring. Unnerving. He felt, absurdly, like he was playing to four front rows.

Eventually it all faded into a crazy haze of unidentifiable activity and he did his best to ignore it.  
It didn't want to be ignored.

That had to be it, he thought, hearing his name again for what had to be the millionth time since Bodhi had gone, and who knew how long ago that had been. It wouldn't leave him be, insisting on lobbing people at him at random intervals, usually when he'd finally managed to shunt off a little horror, a little fear, a little dread, and start to fall asleep.

He'd feel himself drifting and it would happen. Right before his eyes, a blur would detach itself from the stream of human freneticism, everyone so busy, everyone so full of purpose, aim itself in his general direction, and then; "Connor?"

"Yeah."

He hauled himself upright again, wondering if he was armed with a sensor dedicated to making sure he stayed awake, going off in some back room every time he relaxed, staring, bleary eyed, at the new person sitting beside him. What would it be this time? He'd had several updates on Murphy, all limited to the fact that he was still alive.

He'd been given a blanket and a pillow by some kind soul who'd thought he looked cold. He'd have appreciated it more if they hadn't woken him up to tell him he wasn't comfortable  
He'd had lights shined in his eyes, his blood pressure checked...He hadn't bothered to ask why, guessing there was probably no interesting reason for it anyway.

He'd been shown the bathrooms. Asleep, he hadn't been wondering where they were.

He'd been fed and watered and given Advil. That had been nice of them. He'd mentioned he had a headache and then fallen asleep. Of course they woke him up to give it to him.

They'd just been CHECKING on him, and, unused to being taken care of, especially given he wasn't the sick one, it was wearing on him. He appreciated it, but he wished they'd stop.

Now, looking at the woman next to him, he couldn't begin to guess what it could possibly be this time.

It wasn't bad news about Murphy, that much he could tell just by looking at her. She looked interested, alert. He wasn't sure he remembered what alert felt like.

She got it, though. He had to give her that. The first words out of her mouth had been; “Connor, I'm so sorry, I know it must seem like we can't stand letting you rest. I'm about to go home, though, and I wanted to make sure you know what's going on, before I leave. And also offer you a better place to sleep. I'm Ira, by the way. I live across the hall from you and Murphy."

There was something infinitely comforting in the matter of fact way she'd said Murphy's name, as if he was out picking up the mail or something. He had no idea how to express that, said nothing.  
She got that, too, smiling a little.

"Do you know how long you've been here, Connor?"

He looked around, as if it would somehow clue him in and, stymied, shook his head. "I don't have any idea. I'm not even sure where here is. Last I knew we went down in the basement. You'll not be telling me there's a whole medical complex under an apartment house in Boston."

"Not exactly, but you're not far off. Bodhi didn't tell you what this is?"

"He's mad at me."

She nodded, matter of fact. "He sure is. He'll get over it. "

"Are you?"

He wanted to kick himself. It'd just come out, all on its own, and he thought he must've sounded about six years old.

She didn't laugh at him.

"No. And neither is anybody else. Don't worry about that." She waved it off. Who might be pissed off didn't even land on her priority scale.

"Where...I want you to hear me out before you go nuts, now...is District One medical center. I KNOW..." She cut him off before he could start. "The two of you have had some near misses at District. You won't this time. You're in the Madison wing."

"That's a lockdown ward."

"For appearances sake, it is. What it really is, is its own privately owned, privately funded, privately run, privately staffed standalone medical center. It also only accepts..."

"Private patients?"

"Yes indeed. It's linked with Districts computer system so we can monitor any suspicious inquiries, but it's inaccessible by them, and there's no entry from inside District. "

He was wide awake, now, powerfully interested. There was a lot more going on with these people than he'd thought.

"Who owns it?"

"We do. The co-op. That includes you and Murphy."

"And how is it in the basement of our house? District's at least three blocks away."

"It's not. It is, however, accessible via a service corridor..."

"You dug a TUNNEL?"

"No. The tunnel was already there. We started this, the med center, first. There were a lot of people in your position. You can hear more about that later. When Bodhi found the old service tunnel and where it went, one of those big light bulbs went on over his head and he bought the house."

"So I did go into the basement and come up here."

"Yes, but you walked four blocks to do it."

"I don't remember that."

"Connor, I saw the two of you when you came in. I'm surprised you remember any of it. Do you want to know how long you've been here?"

"I do."

"22 hours. I know exactly because I'd been on shift for two hours when you got here, and I just hit 24."

"Why've you been here so long?"

"Murphy. So, you know where you are, and how long you've been here. Do you want to know about your brother?"

She saw him freeze, eyes riveted to hers, daring her to tell him something bad.

Impulsively, she took his hand. He let her, he didn't care. His eyes on hers, she felt herself being read, knew she had to be straight with him.

"He shouldn't be alive, Connor. He shouldn't have been alive last week. We don't know why he is. The damage wasn't repairable, the infection isn't even, at this point, treatable. He shouldn't be responding. But...he's alive, we think we may have repaired it, and he IS responding. We don't know how. We don't know why. I can't give you any kind of honest answer as to his chances."

His eyes stayed on hers, cool. Empty. When he spoke his voice was flat, utterly devoid of feeling. For the first time she could see him as the killer he was, understood she was in waters far deeper than any she'd ever been in before.

"Do you think he'll live?"

"Connor...do you want science, or my gut?"

"I want to know what you think."

"I think if he was going to die, he would have."

"This happened to him before. We came here. He had to run, wide open. A Vet tech put him back together. He should have died then, too. Is that what caused this?"

"Absolutely. I can explain everything that was wrong, Connor. Any time you like. Now, if that's what you need. Or, would you rather see him?"

He hadn't known he'd be awake. Hadn't thought it possible. At first he didn't know he was. He could barely see him, connected to a terrifying array of hissing, whining, beeping machinery, tubes and wires everywhere. He began to search, frantically desperate to find even a spec of his brothers body not pierced by needles, strung with wires, running with tubes. He couldn't do it. And to think, they had no idea why he was alive, if any of this was doing any good. He was thinking that, weirdly enough, Murphy looked better, taking him in, taking his time, wanting to never stop looking at him....realizing, non too quickly, that he'd been staring into his brothers eyes, clear and aware, for quite a while.

He started to speak, felt the words log jammed in his throat, wanted to touch him, didn't know where he could. Gridlocked.

Murphy, who always knew, always felt, saw it coming. A wave of guilt, shame, self-loathing, pain. Didn't matter that it was bullshit, for Connor it was real. It was going to take him down. He was close to meltdown. Christ but they'd fucked this up. Well, they'd fix it. But nobody was crying anymore today. He'd made an executive decision.

"You gonna come over here or you gonna stand there and stare like a goon?" As he spoke, because he knew he sounded terrible and the sound of his voice alone might just be enough to tip his brother over, he let go of the block he'd held, effectively cutting Connor off, all of this time.

Connor, overwhelmed, on the edge, felt that tingle in his soul, that dark, sweet warmth that was Murphy. Felt the little admonition, gentle but firm. It's all ok. Don't cry. Don't freak out. We'll be ok.

All feeling.

That soft stroking, warm, soothing. Murphy.

Amazingly, he felt himself smile, no threat of tears. "You're petting me on the inside."

He never knew how he got to his side. He was just there, Murphy's hands on his face, Murphy's eyes gazing into his own.

He'd thought he'd never see him again.

He saw him wince, heard the hiss of pain as he turned a little, reached down the link and FELT it. He didn't know how Murphy could stand it. He'd have been screaming.

"Jesus, brother, can't they give you something for that?"

Murphy's eyes flicked to one of the multitude of machines, to the line running into his hand. "They are."

"What is it?"

"Morphine."

"Christ."

"I know. Conn..."

"Yeah."

"Don't leave. Even if they kick you out. Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving. There's another bed in here, it's mine now."

"You can't sleep with me?"

"Murphy! Where!?"

"Oh. Yeah. Stay as close as you can, yeah?"

"Of course. You're pulling from me, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little. You usually can't tell."

"You're not usually pulling like you're siphoning gas. I can't stay awake. But don't you dare stop."

"We fucked this up, Conn."

"I know. We're in trouble, too. Bodhi..."

"We let him down, bad, Conn."

"We'll fix it. Murphy."

"What?"

"How can I hug you? I'm going insane. All this shit in the way..." He went off on a rant, pointing out just what was asinine about every single thing in his way, making Murphy laugh even as he hissed out pain.

"Connor, quit. Don't make me laugh. You can hug me. Very carefully. And I love you too."


	12. Interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My satanic word program has been eating half my text on a daily, which is why there's some jumpiness to the tone of some of this. I noticed it this morning. The missing pieces aren't saved, either.
> 
> For now, little short chapters until I figure it out.

The twins were a marvel, Ira thought, watching them from the doorway.

It had taken them no time at all to find a way around all of the gear attached to Murphy. By the second night they were sleeping together, and any admonition that it wasn't allowed simply caused them to pull rank and remind whoever'd had the sheer nerve to tell them what they couldn't do, that they also owned the place and they'd just changed the rules.

Infinitely adaptable to any situation, always of course provided it was difficult, dangerous, painful or life threatening. God forbid it be in any way comfortable or nurturing. Faced with THAT insanity they immediately withdrew, pulling into each other, tuning out the world.

They'd become so habituated to kindness equating with betrayal, that they were finding it hard to shake. They were trying. It was clearly a struggle for them both, but faced with the evidence of what their acquired distrust had cost them, they refused to give up.

Murphy did better with it, with his inborn social inclination. It was in him to be friendly and all of his processes ran off emotion. He was the twin who, unless he was feeling sick, or in much pain, greeted you with a smile. He was the one who always said hi, always engaged, all bright sparkling eyes, fluid open expressions. Easy to like, he'd become a favorite on the ward and half the co-op had fallen completely in love with him.

He sought you out, pulled you in, held you captive.

He obviously, once he'd acclimated to the continual invasion of his space, something he accomplished much more easily, much more quickly than Connor did, enjoyed the attention of people who just wanted to LIKE him.

You never had to worry about stopping in to say hi to Murphy.

For all of his friendliness, though, he was the more difficult to deal with.

When Murphy interacted, he did it all the way, with every part of his body, mind, soul...everything expressive, hands moving, no part of him still, forever reaching out, touching, hugging, or depending on his mood, flinging things, pushing away.

The moods were the problem, as he'd go from happily tolerant to absolutely over it with no easily identifiable warning, lashing out, pulling away, ragingly incoherent, screaming for Connor.

A great deal of that was physical pain. Even more, simple emotional overload. He wasn't used to it and he broke quickly.

He'd hit more than a few people, in the early days of his recovery. To look at him, physical wreck that he was, you'd have thought a blow from him would barely be noticed, but half a dozen people had found themselves knocked on their respective asses until they'd learned to interpret his mercurial, peculiar emotional barometer.

She was reminded of storm fronts she'd watched blow in, everything bright, warm, breezy, shifting into clouds, silvering, darkening, threat at the horizon, dissolving into rain, explosions of thunder...and then the swift reappearance of the sun. Everything blown over.

Connor, of course, read him like a book, and when he'd noticed how many people were winding up in trouble he'd appointed himself, more or less, interpreter. Warning them off when he knew his brother'd hit a moment, when he'd had enough, when he was miserable and faking friendly. He let them know, until they'd learned to read him on their own, when to stay out of reach.

It hadn't really taken anyone very long to get to know him, or he them. When all was said and done, they dealt with him every minute of every day, and he really wasn't that complicated. Trapped in place, he relied on them for everything. Trust or go insane, and when, after the first couple of weeks, nobody had tried to kill him, he settled into the idea that it might, maybe, be ok. It became almost easy. 

Connor, on the other hand, was having a hard time with it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Connor..."

Nothing. No response.

"Conn, come on..."

Nothing. Something was wrong, no question. He'd been suspicious when Connor moved to the other bed, despite his very logical explanation that, with each additional, mysterious medical THING they attached, there was less and less room in the bed. He'd pointed out, reasonably and accurately enough, that there was barely room for Murphy.

Suspicion became surety when Connor started leaving at night to go sleep in the apartment. He hated sleeping alone, hated being separated, Murphy knew it the way he knew spring follows winter. It simply WAS. And he could feel it, radiating, broadcast. Cold. Lonely.

Worry had settled in, a chilly little ball around his heart, when Connor stopped talking to him, sitting with him, touching him. Oh, he'd get close if there was a problem, but if he wasn't needed he kept his distance. That Murphy needed him there, problem or no problem, he well knew. Didn't matter. He wouldn't come close, wouldn't talk, wouldn't tell him what was wrong. And something was absolutely, very very wrong.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Connor, sitting there all the way across the room, idly picking at the little plastic bracelet they'd clamped to his wrist. The bracelet that gave him 24 hour access to Murphy, any time, day or night, no questions. It also gave him something to fuss with, pick at, screw around with...anything to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes...it wasn’t just Murphy he was avoiding, though it damn sure should have been Murphy he wasn’t...and here he was...fucking around with it and looking just about as forlorn and dejected as a body could ever be, and when had Connor EVER looked like that?

He hadn’t, Murphy thought, with a bitter, dark amusement, looked that sad even when he'd been about to blow their respective brains out.

"Connor!"

Oh. Well he got a glance at that one. Progress, he supposed, but there he was, back to fiddling with his hands.

"Connor, will you fucking look at me!?" Finally yelled at him and now he'd gone and done it, hadn’t he. He didn't have the breath to yell and now he was coughing and coughing fucking HURT. Hurt in a thoroughly nauseating 'everything in my body is tearing loose' kind of way that always made him question just what they thought they might have fixed, in there. From his perspective, it couldn't have been much.

He felt Connor’s arm slip around him, felt himself pulled close, heard Connor’s little murmured soothings.

At least it'd brought him over. Not the method he really would have chosen had he thought about it but he supposed he'd just have to take what he could get.

They rode it out, minutes for the coughing to subside, more for the pain to back off, the nausea to, hopefully, pass.

The wonders of modern medicine. Even with a tube keeping his stomach empty and half a dozen anti-nausea meds, the coughing fits still managed to sometimes bring on vomiting and wasn't THAT just a whole new, previously unimagined spectrum of delight.

This time, though, it looked like he'd dodged that particular bullet. Small favors. He was fucking crying again.

Frustrated, his hands found their way into his hair, stopped by Connor, lacing their fingers together, chiding him gently.

"Well what'd you holler at me for, then, brother. You know you can't do that."

Still catching his breath, none to waste on the retort he really wanted, he settled for a glare and the facts.

"You wouldn't..." he had to stop to breathe "...fucking answer me."

"Was it really that important?"

Murphy let go of Connor’s hand, reached up, touched his face.

"YOU are that important. I know you're not ok. Tell me."

Connor looked away, eyes going distant, and Murphy, suddenly furious and with no breath to spare to holler at him, dug his nails into his brother’s face, feeling a sick, sad sort of triumph at the surprised yell of pain.

"Murphy what the fuck!" Connor touched his face, pulled his fingers back sparkling crimson. "Why would you do this?"

"I needed you to come back."

"I didn't go anywhere!" He pulled up a corner of the sheet and wiped blood, his face daring Murphy to please, PLEASE, go on ahead and bitch about it. Just once. "Jesus look at this shit, you want to tell me why the sudden urge to make me bleed?"

"You want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Well, except now I need stitches, how long are your fucking fingernails?"  
He'd looked away again, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes.

"Connor..."

His sigh was exhausted. "I KNOW you. Something's really, really wrong. You're so SAD. And you won’t even look at me."

Something crept into his mind, seemingly random, but then nothing with Murphy and his strange empathy was really random, almost certainly senseless but...didn’t it make a strange kind of sense? It almost did...

"Conn...are you MAD at me about this?"

Connor, avoiding his eyes, reached out, caught his hand.

In all honesty he had no idea what was wrong, as far as Murphy went.

Everything else was wrong, everything. Too many people, too much attention, too much activity, too much exposure. He'd been feeling cornered since they'd arrived, caught in a trap with a target on his back. But Murphy...he didn't know. He just knew that every time he looked at him he felt flooded, drowning in a sickening, anxiety filled, revolted shame. Mad? He didn't think so. It was just... something.

He couldn’t look at him, didn't want to be holding his hand. It felt somehow treacherous. Bait. Something to use to catch him, and god...was that what it was? Had Murphy become just another liability? Was he really thinking of him that way?

Sick inside, he knew he was. Someone tethered in place, too fragile to move, too sick to run. Bait.

And here he was, holding Murphy's hand and drifting with that revolting idea that the only thing he was now was something to get them both killed...

Christ! He dropped his brother’s hand, flung it away...too late.

Catching, if not the thought then the general idea, Murphy, furious and HURT, pulled away, hard.

The movement too violent, pain seized him up, grabbed his air, shut it off, touched off another bout of coughing. This time he wasn't about to let Connor touch him, shoving him away even as it started to gag him, everything cycling into an endless loop that wouldn’t stop, wouldn't let him breathe.

Helpless, ashamed of himself, sick to his core, Connor could only stand there...until he saw the blood running between his brothers fingers and turned and ran for help.

Ira peered into Murphy's mouth with a flashlight, snapped off the overhead, fussed a little at the tube in his nose. "Tip your head back a little Murphy......yeah, this fuckin thing...I don't know, I'll be glad when we can take it out. I hate these fuckin things."

Sighing, she hit the lights, turned off the flashlight, eyed Murphy critically. Something else was up with him. He hadn't, for the first time since she'd met him, gotten on her about swearing. The first words he'd said to her, waking after surgery to hear her cursing like a sailor at some recalcitrant piece of shit equipment had been "you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He'd never since failed to ride her about it. Yeah, he was a mess.

"Stay still, Murphy, ok? Let me listen."

"Ira, where was he bleeding from?"

"Just a sec, Connor."

He watched as she listened to his brother’s chest, back, belly. It always took her a while. She listened long. Murphy'd once told her she listened deep. Too many people missed things when they rushed. She didn’t rush and she rarely missed anything.

Well, there wasn't much going on in Murphy to miss. Still a whole lot of silence, broken only by the new rattle in his breathing.

Sighing again, shaking her head, she sat back, dumping her gear unceremoniously onto Murphy's chest.

"Well...the bleeding was from your throat, Murphy. That fuckin tube. Does it hurt?"

"Why was he bleeding?"

This from Connor, who wasn't inclined to wait while his brother answered.

"It's irritating the living shit outta the back of his throat. Started bleeding day before yesterday. We saw blood coming up the tube, thought he had internal bleeding. Little unscheduled CAT scan...turned out it’s just the fuckin tube."

"Seemed like an awful lot of blood."

"Yeah, well. It was all mixed with spit and puke and stuff. Murphy do you EVER use this?" She tapped the morphine pump. "Fuckin thing's got dust on it."

"No. Not since the first day."

"Your throat hurt? I still have that stuff, you can try it again..."

She caught the ghost of a smile.

"Ira. You really want to try that again?"

"What the hell. Only live once, might as well keep it interesting. For real, if we can get it on there, it really works."

"What're you guys talking about?"

She pulled a bottle out of her bag. "This, Connor, is the green dragon, the invention of Dr. M. You haven't seen her yet. It's a combination of anesthetics that can be oral, or topical. We get a lot of ulcers here, no fucking shock. One slug of this...no more pain. Somewhere along the way someone decided to try it after they'd had their tonsils out. Kudos to that so they tried it for strep. Kicked...major ass. We going for this, Murphy? "

"Yeah." Again the faint smile. Good. "I'm not responsible for damages."

"See, Connor, the problem here is, of course, that fuckin tube. We can't take it out till his insides come back online. It's played merry hell with his throat, and his gag's hypersensitive. It's why that cough keeps making him sick. Tried some of this the other day, just having him swallow it. Didn't hit the right place so we squirted it on with a dropper. He puked all over me. Tried it again with a spray. Same deal. So today..." she poured a little into a medicine cup. "First, swallow this."

"I thought he wasn't supposed to swallow anything."

"It's fine, it'll just go right back up the tube. Ok, you ready? Do what I tell you, I know you have trouble with that, and I PROMISE you'll be fine. Pay attention. I'm gonna Spray this on. The second I do it I want you to swallow, and breathe out through your nose. Ok?"

His nod was quick. He was nervous.

"If you puke on me again we're fighting. You ready? All this fuckin ordeal just cause I like you I hope you know."

Distracted by her comment he didn’t even notice she'd done it, or that he was fine.

"Murphy, you ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"I'm brilliant. I know. So we have two other things we need to talk about. You can decide which comes first. This fucking cough, and this fucking congestion because you won't do what I tell you. Or, what the fuck is up between the two of you. Go."


	14. Chapter 14

The space between heartbeats...escalation.

She didn't hear the trigger so much as felt it pass by. A chill in the air, tangible rage, palpable sorrow. One minute they were talking, telling her about it, the next, Connor was on his feet, eyes filled with hate, and they we're screaming at each other.

For Murphy, it didn't last. Not that the anger subsided. No, not a bit. He just didn't have the breath. Not far from a minute until he was choking on his rage, spitting blood from his ravaged throat, Ira’s attention diverting to him just more pressure on everything that had broken in Connor.

One blink, two, and it was there. The end of his tolerance, critical mass, fission.

She never saw him move, had effectively forgotten he was there until his fist connected with the side of Murphy's head, no restraint, brutally hard.

He'd hit him twice, hard enough to grey him out, screaming something utterly unintelligible...later she would realize it hadn't even been in English but some default to native he hadn't even been aware of...before she was able to react, instinct putting her between them, somehow knowing that as irrational and out of control as Connor was, he wouldn't hurt HER.

She didn't try to reason, didn't try to talk him down. She just stayed, resolutely, solidly between them, hands pressed to his chest, moving him back half a step at a time until he wore himself down and little by little, a blink at a time....English returning...screaming tapering to speaking...finally resolving into tears as reason returned and he realized what he'd done. Devastated.

She let him go, looked at Murphy, who was holding his head but waving her off.

"I'm ok, take care of him."

She hesitated only a moment and saw anger...and something else, unnerving and inexplicable...flash in his eyes.

"It's not the first time he's hit me and it won't be the last. DON'T leave him like that."

It wasn't a request, it was a command, and even as she turned to Connor she knew she'd just seen Murphy...the man he was, not the friendly, kiddish persona he'd been playing for them all this time. Not for the first time, she wondered what they'd gotten themselves into with the brothers, who these two men really were.

It didn't take long for her to realize there was nothing she could do for Connor. He wouldn't let her touch him, couldn't be consoled, nearer to complete and total shutdown with each passing moment. Short of sedating him, something she was by no means sure she could get near enough to do, she admitted defeat.

"Murphy, the only thing I can do at this point is drug him."

"He won't let you."

"You want me to try?"

His eyes, glued to Connor, flicked to hers, blue ice, fastened on.

"No."

Trapped by his stare, it wasn't until she heard the alarms going off that she clicked in on what he was doing.

Almost casually, with no more thought or reaction than he would have given to removing a band aid, he was systematically pulling every line and tube, tethering him to the bed, from his body. At her start of protest and alarm, he flared up, eyes no more human than a snakes. "Don't you touch me."

Choking a little as he pulled the tube from his nose, he saw her start toward him, felt her touch, pushed her away. "Don't even consider it."

Blood ran, streaming crimson from hands, arms, a thick river from his chest, where he'd pulled out the PICC line.

"Murphy..."

"Shut up. And if you're thinking about running for backup..." He smiled at her, terrifying and terrible, blood on his teeth, eyes absolutely empty. "You should know you'll never make it to the door. He'd never hurt you. I will."

His hands, checking for any remaining obstacles, brushed across the drain in his abdomen, grasped, pulled. Last thing between them, gone. He glanced at it absently, dropped it, stood up, slipping a little in the blood, his own, he realized with a horrible dreamy remoteness, pooling on the floor...caught his balance and went for his brother.

Ira, horrified for all of them, watched as Connor’s arms reached out, grabbed him, pulled him down, pulled him in, both of them crying, Murphy murmuring softly in what sounded like the same language Connor had been screaming.

Believing them both oblivious, eyes not leaving them for an instant, she broke for the door, saw Murphy's head come up, tracking her, saw his hand flash around his brother, heard the gun cocked even as she realized what it was and that it was pointed at her head.

"Do not doubt for one minute that I WILL shoot you."

"I thought you didn't kill innocent people, Murphy."

"I didn't say I'd kill you. Sit down."

"Murphy, you're bleeding."

"I'm aware."

"How'd you know he had a gun?"

"He always has a gun. You're not going to distract me, Ira, and the longer you keep me talking the longer I sit here and bleed."

The gun never wavered, his hand utterly and completely steady. She wouldn't make it out of the room, she knew, and he was right. If she stalled him he'd simply sit there with a gun pointed at her head until blood loss and shock took him out.

Nodding, she sat down. "Do what you have to, Murphy, but don't expect me to sit here and let you die."

He nodded, reasonably, lowered the gun. "Noted. Neither will he."

Watching them, for all of her horror at what Murphy had done, and what he was clearly capable of, was far beyond fascinating. She found herself pulled in, unable to look away, barely breathing, entranced. That Murphy was deliberately controlling her never crossed her mind. No longer mindful of the danger her patient had put himself in, the brothers were all she could see. All she could hear.

Murphy's voice, soft and somehow unbelievably beautiful, never stopping, never breaking, soul deep, seeking. His hands on his brother as if in some way recreating him. Touching, whisper soft, stroking EVERYWHERE, everywhere, everywhere, always moving, missing nothing. Holding him close, so close, soft kisses on his face, his eyes, his lips....Connor’s eyes, caught by his brothers, flat vacancy fading as responsiveness returned and now both of their voices, hypnotic, lovely. Hands entangled, utterly in sync, touching, stroking, kissing, holding.

It wasn't until she heard them speaking, words finally in a language she could understand, that whatever spell Murphy had cast let her go and she found herself once more able to breathe. Able to think. Quietly, not wanting to break into whatever was going on between them, she slipped from the room, back in moments with people she'd already told to stay quiet, people resetting everything Murphy had removed, lines, tubes, medications, all of them ready to grab him ,at either his word or the first sign of danger.

She watched them.

Heard Murphy, voice strong, clear, impossible given what he'd done to himself, but there it was. "Brother. Tell me. I LOVE you."

Connor, shaken, crying...on the edge but receding, pulled back into lucidity.

"Murphy...I never meant...it's not..."

Unable to find words, hands digging into his eyes, struggling. Leaning into his brother’s embrace, into his kiss, into his touch, not caring who was watching. "You're all I have. You have everyone. You trust them. All I see is them killing you. If we had to run, I could never get you out. If they turn on us, you'll die. They're holding you down and I can't make them let you go."

He held on, so close, breathing in sync. "I never meant to hurt you."

Murphy, holding him just as close, losing strength now as he came back to himself, his twin completely with him again. "I know. But you don't understand. I don't trust them, either. Why do you think I don't take the morphine? Every time someone comes in, Conn, and you see me touch them, what you don't see is it's this."

His hand, softly stroking, clamped down, Connor staring up at him in shocked, horrific wonder as something, unfathomable, alien, cold and weirdly electric, sank into his wrist, spread, overwhelmed his senses. He tasted metal, felt an indescribable sensation of slick fingers pawing through his mind, his soul. He pulled his hand away, sickly violated, crazily aroused. "Murphy, Jesus..."

He pulled back a little. "If you do that to them every time they touch you I'm surprised they haven't just let you die."

"Yeah, well...I don't think it feels like that to them. They don't seem to notice."

He found himself leaning on Connor, all of his strength draining away. "And Conn, as you can see, if I have to get up...I can. I'd really like to lay back down, now, though."

Reality reasserted itself, and Connor became aware of the impossibility of what was going on, saw what really was and, absurdly impressed and proud, realized how effectively Murphy had taken control of everyone, masked the danger he'd put himself in with the cloud of hypnotic emotion he'd never before spread further than Connor...had no time to panic as a figure materialized next to them "Come on, Murphy" and he felt the simultaneous sting of a needle in his arm, and felt the infuriating smug approval from Murphy, as he started the dreamy drift into whatever Ira had given him, looked, as accusingly as he could into her face.

"You drugged me."

"Yes, I did."

"Murphy..."

"We'll make sure he's ok. Sleep, Connor. When you wake up, I have something to show you."

He was asleep before he had the chance to wonder what it was.


	15. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transitions go unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bridge, because step stoning across just wouldn't work.

If asked, Connor would have never admitted a proclivity for things technical. Later, when it saved both his sanity and his life, he'd wonder if he'd ever even been aware of it.

Sure he was good with numbers, that was his thing.

Murphy had words, Connor had numbers.

And of course he'd always been good at grasping patterns and concepts that left his twin grinning at him in befuddled amazement, shaking his head, calling him a geek.

It wasn't until he met Collin that he discovered just how adept he really was, or that there might be a different way, a better way, to keep doing what they did, if they did, indeed have to keep doing it. It seemed a given, for both of them, but how...who could tell, with Murphy not healing and Connor halfway to crazy?

The answers came from the unlikeliest places...

 

He'd slept off the Amytal pop, waking only slightly disoriented, slightly hungover. Still dark, the night held that strange disjointed feel, balanced at the cusp of incredibly late and obscenely early.

He was glad they were alone, Murphy the only one in the world, right now, he'd ever need to be with.

In the bed beside him, Murphy whispered unintelligibly, caught in anesthetic twilight sleep, suspended between unconscious and aware.

They'd been unable to replace the NG tube that kept his stomach empty and had put him under, inserting another tube just under his ribs.

Just another hole, bored into him.

In another few hours the pain from the new insults he'd dealt himself would be immense, and...alone, Connor occupied elsewhere...he'd find himself no longer able to cope, would finally agree to the morphine, slipping into a numb cycle of drugged sleep, brief waking long enough only to push the button again, at last enough peace, enough rest to finally let his body begin to heal.

His mind, of course, was another matter entirely. That healing, too, was hair width close, about to begin, blissfully unannounced.

For now, though, both unaware that they hovered on the brink of immense change, they clung together as Connor slid in beside his brother, all warm hands and clinging arms, Murphy's smile sleepy and sweet. Tangled. Complete.

Their lives began to change, and along with them so many hundreds of others, with no fanfare, no warning that something monumental was about to begin.

It began in a second, a gentle knock on Murphy's door, and a soft voice. "Connor? I'm Collin. Ira sent me for you. Can you come?"

It was 3am.


	16. Chapter 16

When he finally surfaced, that sweet, dreamy, half reality filled with comfort and Connor fading away, he came up alone, directly into pain.

Tooth gritting, sweating, crying pain that felt somehow dirty, as if the inside of his body had been coated with some filthy, corrosive poison.

He tried to ride it out, breathe through it, but his pain tolerance, normally somewhere in the stratosphere, had bottomed out at the crossroads of ridiculously low and non-existent.

His veins were burning.

He tried to move, to find a position that didn't hurt, rewarded with a screeching pain deep in his gut, and a sickening, crawling sensation, something with claws, trying to get out.

He wondered vaguely, not really thought at all, what could be in there.

Whatever it was, it was on its way out, nausea hitting now in waves.

He reached for Connor, found him distant, faint. Quick comforting stroke, gone. Busy.

Didn’t matter.

He couldn't see, eyes crusted shut, needed them open, needed to find something to vomit in because that was coming, now, without a doubt. He dug at his eyes, didn't clear them. It only hurt.

One more pain.

He'd begun to panic in earnest when, too sick to notice that it didn’t startle him, that he, in point of fact, moved INTO it...and wouldn't these signs he'd missed, these little clues that he had really already decided come back to bite him later... a voice, soft, barely audible, touched his ear; "Right here, Murphy", felt a hand, gentle, unfamiliar...steady him as something cold slipped under his chin just in time for him to retch into it.

He swore later he'd felt his throat CRACK. No other way to describe it, and then the most intense searing, stabbing, stroking pain he'd ever felt, its intensity gagging him again...

What had they DONE to him?

He tried to speak, couldn't. His throat seemed both bone dry and filled with hot liquid fire he couldn't swallow or spit out.

Again fighting panic, alone with a stranger...and how could you actually BE alone with someone, being alone and being with someone mutually exclusive states...his mind had begun pin balling madly, nothing connecting. He could feel thoughts bouncing off the inside of his skull.

The voice came again, just as softly...and again he leaned into it...this time in company of something cool, wet, gently washing the grit from his eyes.

"You'll be able to see in a second."

In reality, less than a second, and Murphy was blinking against the light, staring up into kind, sleepy eyes.

"It's ok, Murphy. Connor sent me."

Oh, had he. But where was he? Since when would Connor SEND someone?

And if he were going to SEND someone, maybe it should have been someone who could do something. Something about this dirty, crawling pain, this miserable seasick ebb and flow. Because there was someone who could do something about it. Maybe not this sweet looking, kind eyed boy.

But someone.

It seemed almost an epiphany, an idea so foreign. Someone could do something about it, and wasn't THAT an interesting thought.

He was losing his mind.

He tried again to speak, tried to clear whatever horrible blockage seemed to be in his throat, felt himself start to cry as something like razors sliced in, shredding the back of his throat, spreading up into his face, behind his eyes.

He was about to start screaming, he could feel it, fought it, shaking.

He felt the boy’s hand, brushing sweaty hair from his eyes, reached up, grabbed on. He didn't care who this was, he needed contact. Needed an anchor. Needed SOMETHING.

He didn't notice at all, at the time, how strange that was...him reaching out for...clinging to... a stranger for no reason other than comfort.

Thoughts, words, images careened around his head, found nothing to connect to, took off again and it came to him that this wasn't just pain. He'd been through pain that made this look like a love tap, this wasn’t just pain. This was something fundamental coming undone, this was him, on the edge, about to step off.

Christ, what had they done to him? It'd spun out before, flung away before it could register. This time, the thought connected.

Not what did they do to you, but what did you do to yourself? And, having torn yourself apart for no good reason....because, after all, they made you get up every day, no psychotic self-mutilation necessary... WHAT did you do to your FRIEND? Did you really aim a gun at her, with every intention of using it if she got in your way?

He hated himself, and he knew.

The road had ended, and his life hung miserably over a rapidly darkening ledge. He knew he'd step off it, one way or another.

Off the edge...into what he was fast becoming, the kind of man he hunted, the kind of man he killed. An inconceivably dangerous, psychotic freak wearing his face, answering to his name, who would one day, sooner, probably, rather than later, kill someone who trusted him.

Or...back onto solid ground. Give it up, let himself break, just be...Murphy. Just...himself. It would be so much harder than stepping into that darkness. Evil. Evil was easy.  
It was human that was hard, and he wasn't sure he still knew how.

He wasn't really aware that he had already decided…that he'd known the second he'd cocked Connor’s gun and aimed it at Ira. He would be...but not yet. 

So…this. Every inch of his body screeching with pain, soaked in sweat and tears, teeth so tightly clenched they felt like they were breaking while this sweet, beautiful, unknown boy held his hand. He had no idea who he was, suddenly loved him anyway, just for being there, just for holding his hand.

Somewhere in his head, an utterly and completely sane thought, maybe the first he'd had in years, jumped to the front, demanded notice.

He was lying here, truthfully in agony, and well...wasn't that just stupid.

Bracing himself for the glass shard pain he knew would come, he tried again to clear his throat...fresh sweat, fresh tears, but he had to be able to say something. He didn't know his name…squeezed his hand instead, tried to speak. Failed, tried again, got a whisper.

"What's your name?"

"It's Terry, Murphy."

"Terry...can you help me?"

Unaware that he'd just witnessed a man rejoining humanity, Terry’s response was still exactly what it needed to be.

"Absolutely, what do you need?"

Downstairs, with Terry’s brother Collin, Connor, eyes glued to a computer screen, was having an epiphany of his own, of a very, very different type.


	17. Chapter 17

Collin held a finger to his lips.

"We can talk, but we have to be quiet about it. Lot of people sleeping. Come on."

Connor, still a little more out of it from the Amytal than he'd realized, could well understand. Light, too bright, the soft sound of their sneakered feet on tile, a din. Loud? Fuck loud...out of the question.

He followed...the oddness of him following some strange guy in the middle of the night did flit through his mind for the briefest of moments...for the first time appreciating, because it was the first time he'd been aware, the scope of the private "wing" the co-op called theirs. The corridor that housed Murphy was far from all there was. Doors broke from corridors, corridors opened into rooms, tapered down to narrow halls, reorganizing and reshaping as they went.

It felt like a maze, and he wondered if he were dreaming. He didn't feel like himself...or was that not it? The world didn’t feel like itself.

They passed through night lit hall's, and Connor thought, somewhat randomly for him, much more a Murphy thought, that the hush at 3AM shouted at you, multithreaded with layers of warnings to be silent. Not knowing he was going to do it, he leaned close to Collin, whispered softly, "the quiet right now is so loud..."

Collin grinned at him, shook his head. "You're still high as fuck, aren't you?"

"I might be."

"Yeah, you might be. Well, this next part will be a little trippy, then."

They rounded a corner, Connor utterly lost and grinning at the foolish thought that he'd found an elevator. As if it were missing, right. He winced a little, he preferred clarity, looked at Collin.

"Yeah, I'm stoned off my nut. Is this the best time for whatever this is?"

"It'll be fine, you're not gonna need to write a thesis or anything, but we can wait, if you want."

Not a little derailed...write a thesis, no shit...Connor shook his head.

"I'm this far down the rabbit hole..."

"Ok. Let's go, then."

They stepped into the elevator, Collin pulling a keyring from his pocket, and, slotting it into the lock set in the wall, turned it to "run".

"If we were ordinary people, Connor, this would be an ordinary elevator, and would only take us to any floor you see a button for. However..."

He hit the "2" button, grinned again. This was his system and he loved it. "We are not ordinary people, and this elevator is special. I always think of Willy Wonka. Pay attention."

The car, beeping its way through floors, seemed to be behaving perfectly normally as far as Connor, who had had a bad moment at the thought of anything remotely resembling anything from Willy Wonka, could tell, thank God.

He hadn't even finished the thought when it got weird.

They beeped through the third floor and Collin turned to Connor, smiled a little madly, turned the key to "stop"...clearly between floors...and opened the doors.

He gestured Connor out, stepped out himself, leaned back in, turned the key to "run", slipped it out and sent the car to the roof.

Pleased with himself, as he always was at this juncture of any trip upstairs, he glanced at Connor, nodding in satisfaction at the look of weirded out fascination he wore.

They stood on a landing, facing another, really stupidly huge in Connor’s opinion, bank of elevators. There were no call buttons, but rather each had a key slot similar to the manual running slot in the one they'd just stepped out of.

"Connor, did you catch the signal that we'd reached our floor?"

"There was a signal?"

Delighted, looking even more pleased with himself, if that were possible, he laughed. "We'll try it again when you're not stoned. If you guys don't notice it, it's better than I thought."

It would be weeks...and he would make this trip many, many times...before Connor caught the almost imperceptible, funky little stutter of the signal beep that told them they were there.

Now, facing this absurd bank of elevators, Collin held up his keys.

"Most of these elevators are duds. The doors don't open, they're fakes. A couple of them will...when you step in they close and they don't reopen. You don't go anywhere until one of us feels like coming up and letting you out. Notice they all have key slots? Each slot has its own key, even the ones that don't go anywhere. Put the wrong key in the wrong slot, an alarm sounds up hear, loud enough to fuck you up for hours, by the way, and also downstairs, so we know someone's up here who doesn't know the system. NOBODY should ever even find this landing, Connor, it's kind of really impossible, but just in case...because we always operate on the premise that the titanic was unsinkable...the whole thing is one big booby trap. This one here is a legit elevator. It only goes one place...out. "

"Emergency escape?"

Connor was starting to feel like he'd been caught in an Indiana Jones movie.

"Very good! That's exactly what it is. We've..." He broke off at the sound of a phone ringing, opened a wall panel..."That'll be Donny, making sure it's us."

He pulled out a receiver, listened, laughed. "We're comin down, Donovan. See you in a minute." He hung up, turned back to Connor. "Anyone hangs out on the landing more than three minutes, an alarm goes off downstairs and we call. Backups on top of backups. We're a paranoid’s wet dream. Come on. This one, is the one we want."

They went down. And down. How far, with no signal, it was impossible to figure out. Connor, starting to come down off his high, the anxiety numbing effects of the drug wearing off, began to be more than a little alarmed as his own paranoid survivor instinct came back on line. What had he just walked into?

Seeing the sudden tension on his face, Collin stepped back, giving him space, slipped into serious. He'd been happily surprised at how easily Connor had come along, but had expected this at every transition point. "Connor, we're the good guys. On my life. Look at me, I know you can tell. On my LIFE. I know this is freaky. Do you want to keep going?"

No reply, just that level stare. He took it as acceptance, nodded. "We're going down six stories, yes underground. There are four levels of sub basements, the first two are service and maintenance...plumbing, electrical, that stuff. The third is special housing. We're using the bottom one. This is us. Do you want to see, or do you want to go back upstairs?"

Connor’s eyes finally broke away from his.

"I want to see."

Whatever he might have expected, he'd had no real idea, it certainly had been nothing so prosaic as...an apartment.

Just...an apartment, disarmingly normal. It looked like a lot of guys might live in it...if the junk all over the place meant anything..., there was a kid asleep on the couch. Insanely young, to Connor’s eye, barefoot in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Clearly home.

Collin smiled down at him. "That's a damn shame. He was trying to wait up to meet you. That's Terry. "

"He looks like you."

"Yeah...kid brother. I'll wake him up later, don't let me let you leave without he gets to say hi, ok? C'mon..."

With virtually no idea what he'd just said, Connor followed him into what had once been, and still bore marginal traces of...fridge, coffee, cabinets...a kitchen.

It had been...converted.

"You feel like you've died and gone to hacker hell, yet?"

"Little bit..."

At first, he missed the actual people in the room. So many tables, desks, bookcases, and shelves had been crammed in, balanced, stacked atop one another, it was almost impossible to really see into the room. What he could see was electronic chaos. Computers of every possible type, and size, covered every available surface, every screen scrolling, flashing, blinking, beeping. Half a dozen laptops littered the counters, keyboards, cords and every imaginable hacker accoutrement filled all remaining space, including the floor. Two walls, hung with enormous screens, displayed the front of their building and an enormous scrolling list of code, respectively. As he took it in, a finger appeared, touched a tablet balanced atop a toaster, and dragged the tablets display to the large screen beside it.

It blew him away.

"Holy Christ! How the fuck did you DO that?!"

The guy who'd accomplished this feat, and Connor now realized there were real people amidst this mess, looked up at him in complete incomprehension.

"Do what?" Recognition suddenly flared in his eyes and incomprehension turned to awe.

Laughing, Collin broke in.

"Connor, the guy staring at you like you're GOD is Donovan. Or maybe he's just staring because he's rude as shit. Donny!"

"Sorry...hi Connor." A beep caught his attention and he was gone, lost in his world, fanboy moment over.

"That's Mark, over there."

Connor saw a hand emerge from behind a pile. It waved hello, disappeared.

"What you're looking at..."

"Should you tell him?" Donovan, up now, picking his way over various electronic detritus, reached for the coffee, looked at it dubiously, dumped it out in what Connor hoped was a sink, and gestured around the room. "I mean, look at us. Do you really think it'll make him feel BETTER?"

"Tell me what?"

"Come on over here, Connor."

Connor, looking to Collin, receiving his nod, picked his way over to Donovan.

"Here, sit...just dump that shit on the floor. Collin, are you cool leaving him with me? We just got six in a row from District."

Collins good humor faded and with a curt nod, he grabbed one of the myriad laptops, swearing to himself.

"He's gotta handle that, Connor. Sorry. Anyway, what he started to tell you, is that what you're looking at is the security system for the co-op, and for Madison. I don't know how much of a techie you might be, but we'll explain anything you want. For now, though, Ira wanted us to show you..."

"We just showing him what Ira wants? Connor, hi. I'm Terry." He made his way nimbly over the piles on the floor, headed into the fridge. "Donny? How much we showing him? Connor..." He waved something in Connor’s general direction. "You hungry? You want one of these?" Whatever 'these' were, he was already eating one, "Donny makes 'em, they're awesome..."

"No..."

He landed in the seat next to Connor, pressing the whatever it was into his hand. "Just take it. It's four in the morning..."

What THAT had to do with anything...

"Donny! What we showing him?" His eyes turned to the screen, settling in.

"Nothing, if you don't shut up."

"Oh my God. Donny, check it out, it's Max." He looked at them both, eyes full of maniacal glee. "Lock the door! Lock the door, come on..."

Grinning in spite of himself, Donny nodded, looking a little furtive. "Well...this isn't very nice of us, and we do it to him all the time. Watch the screen."

The display showed the front of their house, a man on the steps. He fished around in his coat, extracted his keys...

Beside him, Connor saw Donovan’s fingers hit keys, heard Terrys laugh, saw the man on the steps shoving at the door in frustration, quite visibly swearing.

"He's been swearing at that lock for two years. He's sure it's broken." His fingers hit the keys again and the door opened.

Turning to Connor, dead serious, he explained.

"Nobody gets in who's not supposed to get in. Obviously I don't sit here and man the door for everyone who lives here. Your keys all work...but I can override them if necessary."

"But...I just walked in off the street the day I moved in. I didn't have keys yet, Murphy had them."

"You didn't just walk in, Donny let you in."

"You did? Really?"

"It's true. And just in case some shady dude of nefarious intent is hanging around and nobody happens to notice, and the doors happen to be unlocked, which they never are, or shady dude just happens to have a key...the inner doors work on recognition programs. Face, body, face/body. If the system doesn't recognize you, you're not getting in. Unless one of us lets you in."

"Those doors aren't ever locked."

"Not for you. It knows you."

"Don't you have to scan people for that shit?"

"Yes."

"We..."

"Yes you were. Both of you. No, we didn't ask. Yes it's a dick move. It wasn't ours."

"Who's was it?"

"Not allowed to tell you."

"Does that mean you won't?"

"Not at all. Not right now, though."

"Huh. Jesus. Terry, what is that?" Terrys screen showed one of dozens of scrolling lines of numbers. He had no idea what they were, but he'd noticed a pattern, found himself trying to decipher it.

"Make sure you look away from the screen, Connor."

Donny voice broke in, making him jump, and the room spun a little.

"If you don't look away, look at something that's not moving, you can get a little motion sick. Just look at a table or something, every few minutes. Don't look at Terry, he never holds still."

Terry, nodding agreeably, chimed in "Mark used to forget all the time. He puked in three keyboards..."

"Shut up..." faint, unoffended...Mark, from behind his digital mountain.

Donny, watching Connor, saw connections being made. "Do you know what you're seeing?"

"Not exactly. I know it's repeating."

"You into computers, much?"

"No. Never had time. I don't mean I don't like them, I just haven't spent much time around them. What do these stand for?"

"The codes? What makes you think they stand for anything? How do you know they're not their own thing?"

"I'm not stupid. The same lines keep coming by, but these…"

"Those're flags…"

"They're different."

"They are. Collin!"

"Yeah..."

"How much can we tell him?"

Collin looked up, grinning. "I was told to show him almost nothing. The security on the house, and on Madison. Nothing else. He absolutely cannot be looking at that, and he can't be allowed to figure it out. You know what that means."

Marks voice emerged again, louder, excited now.

"It means we tell him everything! Secret number one..."

He stood up, revealing his actual existence, pointed at Connor.

"Since you and your brother are the only reason this place even exists, I can't, in good conscience, keep anything from you. If you need someone to spill his guts, I'm your man."

"Good to know..." his voice faded a little, eyes going dim, flickering. For a minute, he wasn't there, Collin on him instantly.

"Connor? Hey! You ok?"

It took him a minute. "Yeah, Murphy...I should get back up there, he's awake."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do. He's hurting, and he's alone..."

"That thing you do, you and Murphy. Ira told me...Do you WANT to go? Because you don't look like you do."

"It's not that, it's...he...kind of reached for me, but it doesn't seem like he...needs me? Don't even listen to me, I sound insane. I gotta go, he's all alone and everyone's pissed at him..."

"I'll take you back up."

"Connor..." Terry touched his hand, staying him. "Hang on a minute. If you just don't want him to be alone, I can go hang out with him. You can stay for a little."

His 'no' was nearly automatic, his need to be with Murphy so instinctive. Except…Murphy hadn't exactly been calling him. More, just...looking for him.

"Checking on me?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

He nudged the link back toward Murphy, meaningless comfort, the suggestion he was in the middle of something...testing. Something was different, and for the first time he could remember he was unsure what he might get back.

He got nothing he expected. No clinging, no need, no pain. Just acknowledgement. Ok, brother.

"Murphy, what are you doing?"

"Connor?"

He looked at Terry, at all of them, three sets of eyes looking at him, not a single judgement, nothing but concerned...curiosity. They wanted to know he was ok...and they wanted to know what he was doing.

He could live with that.

"Terry...if you get there, and he needs me..."

"I'll call down right away."

"And be careful. He's…I don't know, he's dangerous.

"I know what he did. We'll be fine. Stay a little while."

 A few minutes later, not quite believing what had just happened, Connor sat gazing at flashing numbers, Collins voice explaining what he was seeing.

"These, Connor...these are people. People who don't want to be found. Like you and Murphy. These...are people looking for them. You don't need to know about these people, at least not now. Turn around and look at the wall screen. Donny?"

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Ok. "

A second later, the wall filled up, millions of lines of code, flying by almost too fast to see.

"These...are you and Murphy, Connor. And these…are thousands of people, looking for you."


	18. Chapter 18

He had no idea how many hours had passed, talking, watching, learning. It all made so much sense, and how long it had been, since something made sense.

It hadn't. Not at first.

Although he'd known technology was out there, he'd never had time to play with it, had never even thought about using it.

When first approached with the idea that lines of code were people, his mind had balked, stuck in creepy thoughts of The Matrix. Nobody had laughed, when he mentioned it.

Collin, patiently happy to explain.

"Well, yeah, Connor, kind of. Except those were supposedly real people, trapped in a program. These are just representations...What we did, or, what Terry did, was link the code for you and Murphy with...Oh, I don't know, about a half a MILLION keywords that could possibly be associated with your names. Then he set this up...anytime one of those keywords gets a hit, it generates a report...that's this. Without going too techie, because no offense your starting to get the face my sister used to get when I talked about car parts, it all gets cross referenced multiple times and if it really seems to be someone looking for information about you two, it goes here, flagged with what it is, where it came from, all that."

"Connor, look."

Donovan, not an explainer...a demonstrator. "These...these are google hits. Usually just people checkin out the legend, but..."

"Just in case..."

"You're gettin it..."

Hours of "Connor, look..." "Connor, listen..." all of it fascinating, none of it getting on his nerves, the way he'd have thought it would if anyone had suggested to him that he'd be here, in this place, with these people. He'd have laughed himself sick at the thought of him, comfortably hanging in a hackers den, eating their burritos, drinking their coffee, digging into their systems, cheerfully bickering back and forth, bandying semantics, debating sense and nonsense alike...without Murphy, without really even thinking about Murphy aside from the involuntary joint self-awareness they both shared....yet, here he was.

And he LIKED them. The whole vibe down here was friendly, homey...safe. Somehow, they'd learned each other, effortlessly, conversation knocking around like billiards.

"We don't actually live down here, we just none of us ever bother going home."

"It's not telepathy, we don't read each other's minds. It's more like sharing one. I know when I have a headache, I know when he does. He knows when he's really up on something, he knows when I am. There's not a lot of differentiation. We have to really focus, sometimes, to know who's thinking and feeling what, when."

"Terry's a fuckin genius, all this coding? All him. And he's a keyword freak, he makes associations that are just so all the way out there, and they turn out right. I had to learn all of this, and I'm still not as good as everybody else. I was a mechanic, before this."

There was a lot of "before this" and he was strangely unsurprised to learn that he and Murphy were responsible for these men's continued existence. At some point, in each of their lives, down to the wire, the twins had intervened. They'd never noticed, so busy worrying about collateral damage they failed to notice how many people, caught in the crossfire, had been saved because of it.

"It's why we're here, Connor. We put this together because of you, FOR you. So there would be somewhere for you."

However, when asked who "we" consisted of, they went oddly silent. Uncomfortable with it, but unwilling, yet, to break a trust.

They'd asked about the bizarre personality shift they'd seen a few times, even in this warm, friendly place...That they'd also seen in Murphy, and wasn't he surprised to find that, other than Terry, they'd all already met Murphy...wanted to understand what it was, what it meant, absolutely loved that Murphy called it their saints.

That he couldn't really explain it didn't disappoint...They were just as ready to find that answer as they had a million others, batting around ideas from some kind of split personality, to benign possession.

It was when he suggested that it wasn't necessarily benign that it had all begun to go south.

Not overtly, not at first, but talking about it had brought it on, in a mild running in the background sort of way, and that cold, practical, ultra-focused part of his mind had fastened onto a particular information stream, ticking its way out in front of him, pulling at him, driving him.  
He'd tried to push it aside, couldn't.

Too tired, too long without sleep, too battered by everything the last few days had wrought, he didn't lit in him.

His head had started to ache...and their friendly chatter had started to grate on him.

And then, from somewhere, some question about how it had started in the first place. Not the legend, but what had really happened.

It was too much. His barriers, shattered by the last couple of days, the drugs, the intense load of new information, God knew how long without food or sleep, now so unexpectedly surrounded by people who seemed to care, seemed...friends...it all came spilling out of him. 

At first, quite sane. He wanted to talk about it, needed to, though he'd have honestly denied any such thing.

He didn't know, didn't know much of anything, just that once it started it kept coming.  
And they never interrupted, never broke in, no questions or opinions...They held onto them, knowing he needed to get it out, knowing he might stop if anyone spoke.

And of course, altruistic kindness aside, they really wanted to hear it. 

His eyes still tracking digital information...and wasn't he surprised at how clearly he understood it, how much he liked it...he told them what he'd never admitted to anyone.

"This whole thing, we told everyone we thought it was a calling from God, y'know. At the time, we did. Stupid, really. I'm more than sure it wasn't God at all, I'm pretty sure it was me.

We had the same dream, a voice telling us to get rid of evil men.

It might have been better if we'd started with ourselves.

I don't know why we thought it was God. We've shared dreams all our lives. There was nothing that should have made this any different. I doubt it was God. I'm pretty sure it was me. An eye for an eye has always been my way, and they'd tried to hurt Murphy. Tried to kill him. Murphy, of all people. I mean, he was just a guy, right? Back then he wasn't the Murphy you see now, I'll tell you that. He was the guy you had a beer with...everybody’s friend. Feelin' down, give Murph a call, he'll take you out for a drink, you'll feel better, good time had by all. Who would want to HURT him?  
ANYONYE wanted to hurt him? I wanted to hurt them.

It was my dream...kill them all."

And then, Connor’s reality...It became all about Murphy, had always been all about Murphy.

"It was never his way, and he was never comfortable with it. Killing men, even bad men, it wasn't him. But he thought the voice was God, and that's probably contagion from me too, so he did it and he was ok, he was still Murphy...and then shit happened and he didn't believe anymore. Once he didn't believe he was out there for a reason, yeah it was like a cancer in him...and PEOPLE just let him down.

That night with Bodhi, when our best friend, that was who did it, our closest, dearest friend...for our entire lives, he was as much our brother as we were, he set us up...for money. No other reason. Just money.

That alone would have started Murphy doubting, but when that little boy jumped in front of us and caught a bullet in the throat…Murphy knew, in his soul he knew, no God he could believe in would have set that in motion. He was just wrecked...if we'd stopped he might have been ok. But we didn't, we kept going, and in his mind he was just killing, playing God himself, and it was eating at him.

He started to talk about quitting, about it being wrong. About how he didn't believe God had told us to do this, he still believed in God, up to that point, just not that he'd told us to kill. He thought Bodhi was the real message. That we were wrong, and we had to stop.

He could have. I never would have stopped him. I told him...it was ok, he didn't have to do it anymore, but I did. Because God or no God I believed...still believe...it was right. An eye for an eye and someone has to do it. It was my calling. If it wasn't his, that was ok.

He wouldn't stop though, not if I didn't. He was afraid for me y'know, for my life, for my soul...so he stayed with me and he started to go insane. Not an expression, he really did. His saint went crazy. It would take him over, any people who went near him, didn't matter who they were, he'd change...he got cold, got...mean. There had never been a mean bone in his body. I didn't change. It didn't really touch me, it just seemed right.

He stopped sleeping, and when he did it was all screaming nightmares. Stopped talking to anyone but me. Stopped touching anyone but me, and that was so not him. He was always the touchy one, couldn't talk to you without touching you, hugging everyone, kissing everyone, hangin all over people, he was so physical. If you didn't want to be wearing him, stand out of reach. And he loved everyone, fell in love with everyone...fucked everyone too. Thoroughly gross, I'm sure, but he had to be as connected to everyone as he could be.

It all stopped, became just me. Yes, that too. We're the only one we've touched in years.

And I fell into it because when you love Murphy, his emotions are contagious. They spill all over you, you get stuck in them. That's what happened to Ira yesterday, why she couldn't move to stop him. She was stuck in his little emotional hole.

Then Maura came along, it took her years but she started to pull him out of it. He started to come back, not a lot but enough to trust her, enough to let her in. Then, of course, he got gutshot, and they tried to kill us in the emergency room. His saint went from insane to fucking homicidal. Nobody who went near him, except for Maura and me, was safe.

He'd started to doubt God's very existence, by then, and for Murphy that was...I don't know, unthinkable...and then she died, saving us.

A week or so later I got sick. Really sick. We knew I had to get to a doctor...we went way out in the boondocks, found some little place where nobody could have ever heard of us. They checked me in, kicked him out. The next morning someone injected poison into my IV. I pulled it out, went to the hotel, we just waited to see if I would live or die. So it'd been both of us. He was still so sick from the belly wound, he never should have survived that...but he told me he knew now that there was no God. Everything was a lie. Good and evil didn't exist.

He was just so soul sick...our friends sold us, the people we loved died for loving us, we were walking targets and there was clearly no help available.

It got so neither of us could ask for anything from anyone but us. We just turned the rest of the world away. Me, because he was and I was stuck in it. I just wanted to find every bad person and get rid of them. He'd come to believe all people were evil, and the only thing that stopped him just killing everyone who crossed his path was that little bit of him that was still him, that was overriding the saint, who was by that time just...

By the time we got here, and it took me months to convince him that we should come here, because by then he trusted no one, not even our blood family, it was one of them who told us...he'd gotten so sick from that old wound in his gut, and so sick of even being alive.

There was no way he'd let anyone here help him, no way he'd EVER trust any of you, no matter what, and I got stuck in it again. When it was clear he was dying, he didn't even know anymore that help was here, and I was too sick inside over him to break out of it."

He emerged for a minute, seemed to shake himself a little.

"I knew he'd hurt somebody, one day, someone who didn't deserve it. Course, the day he did that would be the day I had to kill him.

He didn't follow through, he's still sane enough that he could stop, but if she hadn't done what he said....it’s not his fault, it was done to him, by me to be sure, but also by those evil fucking bastards out there...and now I'm looking at all this...and you know who those people are. You know where they are. Every person out there who could potentially come after us, and I'm just as crazy as he is, because all I can see is how EASY it would be....every one of them, before they ever have the chance...Jesus."

He was on his feet in a second, running for the bathroom, for a few minutes sicker than he could ever remember being.

Not a minute later he heard Collin behind him.

"Connor...did we tell you to not stare at the screens?"

Felt a hand, rubbing his back. Nothing like Murphy's feather touch. Solid. Grounding.

"Wasn't the screens."

"No? What happened? Here..."

He handed him a coke. "You ok?"

"All those people. How easy it would be..."

"...to just pick 'em all off? Don't for a minute think we haven't all thought of that."

"Yeah, well, if I could wish it I'm no better than they are."

“That it made you this sick, just to think about it, that's proof you're nothing like them"

"I'm sorry..."

It was all he could think to say.

"For what? Being human? Having a soul? Connor, you don't really know it yet, but you will. You're with friends. Why would we need you to apologize? For this? Connor, we're pushing ALL of your buttons. And Murphy? He's not crazy, we're pushing his, too. Not deliberately, but...here you are, surrounded by everything you've both given up. People who care for you, they're targets, you let them go. Friends just betray you, you can't trust them. You stop allowing yourselves to have them. You can't depend on anyone so you stop even trying. And now you're dropped right down in the middle of it, everything you've successfully let go, and you're expected to embrace it! I KNOW how hard we're pushing you. Don't apologize when WE push too hard."

It was suddenly too much. Too much of everything that had been missing, too much of everything he hadn't known he needed. Too much understanding.

Everything in him broke, and he let it.


	19. Chapter 19

She watched him sleep, her eyes flitting from the monitors, to his face, relaxed for the first time since she'd met him, back again.  
To the even rise and fall of his breathing...slow. Deep. He hadn't taken a deep breath in weeks, proof in the lingering cough, fevers, riding the edge of critical infection. Anyone else would have pneumonia...

The readouts backed up what her eyes told her.

Really sleeping, all the way down. Deep. 

She'd never seen him really asleep. 

When he'd been there a week, concerned that round the clock shift notes commented that he was always awake, she'd hooked up the EEG, taken 48 hours of readings to neurology, and demanded an explanation. "Tell me this guy isn't living without sleep."

The neurologist had shrugged, "Well, he's not living with much...He drifts off a little, here and there. Little lower once or twice, here...here..." "His twin was with him."   
"Yeah, well, most of the time he's so light he probably wakes up as soon as anyone goes in the room. I wouldn't worry about it. I'd imagine he's in the habit of sleeping with one eye open."

Easy for him to say. Murphy wasn't his problem.

To heal, he had to sleep. 

Three weeks post op, and virtually nothing was healed.

She didn't wonder.

Pain relief and good sleep. The two biggest keys to any recovery process.  
Pain retarded healing, stretched out recovery time, prevented critical activity that would promote circulation and prevent infection. Serious pain could knock the healing process out cold, working into a vicious and unrelenting cycle; pain prevented healing, lack of healing caused pain, pain prevented healing...and of course he wouldn't take the pain meds.

He'd accepted them the first day...too sick to protest? Too out of it from surgery to care? He'd never said, he'd just stopped. No relief, no healing, no rest.

Until now. Why now?

She stepped in close, picked up his hand, flexed it. Limp, no tension at all…and even anesthetized his tone had been higher than this...ran the end of her pen across his palm, watched his fingers curl in a little...reflex. 

Pulled the blanket back, checked the new surgical site, the new tube stitched into his upper abdomen, the drain set in lower, the still mostly unhealed weeks old incision. 

Again, no tension. No guarding. No hands shoving hers away. 

She took out her stethoscope, listened longer, easier because she could press in without hurting him. Still nothing to hear.   
Sighing a little, she put it away, covered him back up, found herself a little nervous that none of it had disturbed him at all.  
Eyes back to the machines. Everything said he was fine. Still...  
She tapped the back of his hand. "Murphy..."  
Nothing. Tapped again, harder, spoke louder. "Murphy!"  
He pulled his hand away, blinked up at her. "What?"  
"Making sure you're ok."  
His eyes were closing even as he nodded.

Satisfied, she sat for a while, thinking.  
Thinking about his face when he'd threatened her, thinking about the gun, wondering if he'd have used it.

Watched his face now, seeming at least a decade younger in sleep, innocent and beautiful, not the face of a killer.

Sighing, wondering, she watched him sleep.  
__________________________________________

Collin wasn't immediately aware that there was something wrong with Connor.  
For a few minutes, normal prevailed. 

Like a car, he thought later, with a thrown rod. If you keep your foot to the floor and left brake your ass off, it'll still get you home.

Connor had picked himself up off the floor, mumbling something irritable about selling his soul for a toothbrush.  
Collin had obliged; "I don't think you'll need to go that far...", and pulled a new one from a stash in a drawer. "We're pretty much set up like a bomb shelter down here. Anything you could possibly need." He handed over the toothbrush, dug around for a minute, emerged with toothpaste. "Here. Check it out, we even have tampons." 

Connor, fairly absently working at getting toothpaste on the brush, failed to respond and Collin, looking at his face, felt the first stirrings of disquiet.

Something wasn't right.

Whatever it was, it wasn't obvious. Subtly off.

"Hey, Connor? Man, you ok? You're a million miles away."

"Not that far."  
Connor’s voice, distant as his gaze, sent chills riling up Collins back. "Not yet. Take this." He held out his gun, and when had he even picked it up? "Put it somewhere."

"Why are you giving me your gun?"

Nothing, just the gun, held in stasis, and those godawful, empty eyes.

"Connor, come on, what is it? What's going on right now?"

Connor, whatever cogency he'd had left rapidly fading, managed to pull himself back into his own mind long enough to warn him.

"Take it. TAKE IT! Put it where I can't see it, and do it now. I don't want to hurt anyone."

It was the last coherent thing he managed. Awareness bled away, taking reality with it and Collin found himself looking into eyes as dead as a dolls.

"Oh, man, c'mon Connor, don't do this to me....fuck."

He stepped sideways out of the room, not wanting to turn his back to that stare, threw the gun on top of the fridge, grabbing Donny, harder than he meant to, badly frightened now, on the way by.

"Come on, I need help."

"What? Why? Is he ok?"

"No. He just gave me his gun, told me to hide it from him, and checked out. He's standing there like a blown fuse."

"God. They all go crazy, don't they. You remember Jordan..."

"I don't even want to think about that. Just come on."

They found him sitting on the floor, shaking, no longer vacant, no longer sane.

For Connor, the world had receded.

Completely blind, his world was black.  
Infinite, unearthly black, and so so cold.  
He felt himself shaking apart, heard his bones freezing, cracking, shattering, his flesh crumbling away, massing around him in a cloud of vibrating hate, anger, murderous fear.  
Deafeningly silent, he tried to speak, to scream, anything to hear his own voice, to break that shrieking silence. His voice no longer existed. He was nothing. Nowhere. Bleeding into black, it hurt and that hurt was limitless.

He'd been here before, and... before...there had always been Murphy.

Murphy climbing inside him, hot, insistent, pulling him back.

But now Murphy was gone, lost somewhere, inaccessible. For the first time it was only him, Connor, lost in the not quite void, on his own in freezing blackness, feeling himself rip apart, repeatedly, endlessly. 

Of reality, he knew nothing.

Nothing of the voices, calling his name, the hands touching him. 

Didn't feel his own hands ripping his hair out, his own fingers, digging into his eyes, or his own blood running, hot, down his face...lunatic tears. He didn't know he was crying.

Deep inside his shattered mind, some last, desperate, vestige of sanity reached for Murphy and PUSHED.

_________________________________

He was thrown into wakefulness, feeling the jolt all the way to his bones, gasping for air that didn’t seem to be there, fingers scrabbling madly for the call button, heart racing, panic thick and choking in his throat.

He heard the alarms as the monitors above his head registered the massive changes in his body, struggled to breathe, to think, to register.

He knew it all, all at once, taken over by massive, boundless dread.

He knew where Connor’s mind flung him, when his fear and murderous self-hate took him over.

Knew that place of frozen darkness well, as intimately as Connor did, god knew he'd been there, in it with him, enough times.

It took everything he had to will his conscious mind in place.

To hold the insane instinct screeching at him to GET UP, GO GET HIM, GET HIM OUT OF THERE at bay. 

Somehow...he held it. Forced himself to breathe, to think.

He couldn't get up. Couldn't get to him. 

Oh, he had him.  
He'd had him before Connor’s massive, pushing panic wave could even finish breaking over him. Had him before he'd fully awakened. He had him.

Connor, too lost, too scared, too hurt...didn't know it, still casting in the dark, still searching for him, unable to feel him, hear him, find him...

"Murphy!"

He looked up, not really processing, more than half of him stuck in Connor’s frozen hell, saw Terry, trembling, sweaty and out of breath, holding out a phone. Saw Ira, on her way in to answer his call. Reality, as it was. He forced panic down, breath in, wrapped himself around his mind and got a grip.

If he was going to do anything for his brother, he'd have to do it from here.

He caught Ira's hand, held her there, turned to Terry, took the phone.

"I know. Connor’s stuck in his head and you ran all the way up here to get me. Sit down and breathe. Who's on the phone?"

"Collin..." he reached for the phone, tapped it. "S'on speaker. Collin...Christ I can't breathe...go ahead, you've got Murphy and Ira"

"Murphy…"

Collins voice was worried, but calm, and some of Murphy's panic ebbed.

"I assume you already know what's goin' on?"  
"Yeah, I do."  
"Would you mind telling me? All I know is your brother was talking to me one minute and trying to dig his eyes out the next."

"Well don't fuckin let him do that!"

"We're not. No matter what, we'll make sure he's safe, Murphy. But we don't know what's wrong or what to do for him. Terry figured you'd be the only one who might."

"He's crazy is what's wrong. He's stuck in a...fuck...what’s the fuckin word...like a hallucination. He's not hearing or seeing anything that's there. He's stuck in his head, he's freezing to death and all of his bones are breaking, over and over and over and I have no idea if he can get out of that on his own."

Panic welled, he forced it down, hanging onto Ira, letting her anchor him.

"Murphy, what do we do for him?"

"I have no idea what you can do, I only know what I do. I go in after him and pull him out. You can't do that."

"Ira, can you get Murphy down here?"

"No. He can't get up yet. I was about to suggest wheeling him down, but your airlock won't fit a stretcher or a wheelchair."

"AIRLOCK! Where the fuck..."

"It's just Ira's word Murphy. It's just an elevator but it's tiny. And...I don't think we can get him to you, not like he is now. Do you HAVE to be with him?"

"I have to be able to touch him."

"Can you...I don't know what it is you do...grab him with that mind meld you two have?"

"I already have, but he's too lost to realize it. I've got him, but he can't find me. I have to be able to touch him."

"Why?"

"Collin you know how bad he's hurting while we sit here on the phone?!"

"I know, Murphy, I don't want him to suffer either. I'm trying to figure out how to help him. Could Ira give him something, maybe?"

"No! ONE time we tried that. He was stuck for days. It just locked him in."

"Ok. Why do you need to be touching him?"

"I don't know, it's just what I've always done."

"Does it have to be you?"

"Well who else is gonna climb inside his head with him?"

"Yeah, but you're already there."

"I think..." his eyes went to his hand, linked with Ira's. Anchor. Maybe...

"Collin...maybe. Maybe it doesn't have to be me. I don't know. If he just needs contact maybe it could be anyone, but listen!"

"I'm listening."

"You'd have to be really careful. He...Jesus, Collin, he's got a gun. If you..."

"No he doesn't, he gave it to me."

"He gave you his gun?!"

"Right before he clicked out. Told me to hide it. Does that mean anything other than he can't shoot me?"

"Means he trusts you. Listen...you said you stopped him digging at his eyes...so he let you touch him."

"Just me. He won't let anybody else. And I...I tried to be easy but..."

"No, you can't. What I was gonna tell you. You touch him light he'll freak right out. You have to grab on HARD. Like...hard enough you have to think you must be hurting him. That's what it takes to break through. And you can't just hold his hand."

"I know. Ira told me what you did...this is what clicked YOU out, isn’t it. He was like this?"

"Yeah..."

"I see now why you were willing to chew through a fucking wall to get to him. This is the worst thing I've ever seen anyone go through."

"It's worse where he is. Collin, he's scared. Bad. Like...there are no words. He's not me...I don't think he'd hurt you…but I don't know. He gave you his gun, he trusts you not to hurt him. But..."

"I know. No promises. Murphy, what is it that's scaring him so bad? What's he so afraid of that it would do this to him?"

"Himself. Just...him. Collin. Even if he lets you, can you really get that close to him, that hard, for that long? I mean...can you DO that?"

"If he lets me, yeah."

"It won't weird you out? Because if it works, he'll have you too."

"I know. I KNOW. I'm ok about it, Murphy. You've got him on your end, I'll try to get him on mine. Be thinking up a plan B in case he punches my face off. How does he come up out of this?"

"How do you mean?"

"Is it quick? Is it a process? Is he just...normal again?"

"No. It's not quick. It's a bit at a time. And be careful. He's come up fighting a couple times."

"How often does this happen to him, Murphy."

"Too often. Look, sometimes he comes up sick."

"He was before. I thought maybe that triggered it."

"Maybe. Sometimes he comes up crying. Sometimes..."

"It's ok. I know the other 'sometimes'"

"Ira overshares."

"So does Connor. Murphy...are YOU ok?"

"No. Not even close. Not till I'm looking at him and he's looking back at me. Collin...neither one of us is gonna be able to take much more so please...go get my brother."


	20. Chapter 20

Collin stood, for a few minutes, in the doorway, taking him in.

He hadn't seen him move in far too long.

Jammed as far into the corner between the tub and the wall as he could get, pulled in on himself, head on his knees, arms wrapped over his head. God knew what he was hiding from.

Well no. He amended the thought. Murphy knew. He could have fixed this in minutes.

There was blood on the floor, and a horror strange thought drifted through his mind.

Saint’s blood.

Christ but he'd HURT himself before they could get his hands away from his face. It hadn't been easy to stop him, and he'd persistently gone after Donovan until Collin had finally made him leave, and wrestled Connor’s hands away from his face by himself.

Too late.

He'd clawed his face apart, some cuts still bleeding freely, and Collin supposed he'd need stitches if they ever got him back. He'd gone for his eyes with a vengeance and who knew how much damage he'd done? His lip was shredded, and there had been nothing Collin could do to stop his biting. His scalp, hair torn out by the roots, bled streams down his face.

Blood everywhere.

It came to him again; saint’s blood, and he realized he was more than just frightened. This was a dreamy edged terror, pushing at his mind, turning his thoughts strange, his guts liquid. He felt on the verge of vomiting, passing out...both.

It wasn't so much Connor. Oh, Connor was dangerous, gun or no gun. Terrified, cornered, actively psychotic, stuck in a hallucination.

He knew he might get hurt. That wasn't the catalyst for this fainting fear.

They trusted him. He had no idea why, but they did. Both of them. Murphy, trusting him with the only person left in the world he loved.

Connor, who'd handed over his gun, trusting them not to hurt him, and who, Collin suspected...correctly, though it would be weeks before Connor admitted it to him...had always held this thing off unless Murphy was with him. Who never gave in to it around other people, or alone.

But here they were.

Fully cognizant of how monumental a thing this was, he was terrified. Way out of his depth, so scared he'd go under and take them down with him.

What if he hurt him more than he already was?

Still...the thought of simply handing him over to the psych unit set his teeth on edge.

If he came out of this and found himself locked in a ward...such a betrayal.

He couldn't do it. Trust came way too hard to them.

"What're you gonna do?"

Donovan, next to him.

"Hold on to him. That's what Murphy said to do."

"You're aware this is honest to god psychosis, right?"

"Yeah. But Murphy..."

"Collin...Murphy isn't here. You are."

"I know. I'm scared too. I'm really afraid we're doing every wrong thing that can possibly be done right now."

He knelt down, tipped Connor’s head back, looked into his face. Blank, bleeding, eyes silvered and glassy. Unresisting.

He slid in next to him, feeling him try to pull away, stopped by the wall. No room, none. Collin felt him start to fling himself forward and grabbed him. Hard.

Fear gave him strength he'd never known he could possess as he forced Connor back against the wall, pinning him, holding on as he fought to get away and my GOD he was strong. He held on, pushed in, and suddenly... Connor wasn’t fighting him. He wasn't responding but he wasn’t fighting.

Collin could feel him shivering, felt the iciness of his skin, felt the cold radiating from him. Murphy had told him it was cold where Connor had taken himself and here it was, manifest...made physical. His will was immense. 

"Donovan!"

"I'm right here, Collin, you don't need to yell. What can I do?"

"Get the thickest blanket we have, he's fucking FREEZING."

He was back in seconds with a quilt, arranging it over both of them, careful not to touch Connor.

"I can't stay with you, Collin."

His voice was soft, apologetic.

"It's just Mark out there, he needs help."

"I know. Just...please. If I call you? Run."

"I will."

And so, they were alone. 

Collin held on.

 

Connor, in the brutal and unrelenting frozen blackness of his own self-hate, searching for Murphy, felt nothing but panic, pain, immense, soul ripping loneliness...then...nothing.

And nothing.

And nothing.

The world, in its entirety, had ceased to exist.

Collin hadn't even been noticed, all the fight nothing but body instinct.

It went on, infinitely.

He became numb, began to forget, becoming nothing in himself. 

How perilously close he came to never coming back again, to losing himself forever, he'd never be really sure. He knew it was close.

When he finally felt Murphy, holding inside his soul, he'd stopped searching, had forgotten his brother existed.

He almost let it go, that nagging little burn. Let it go, let his dissolution become complete.

Murphy felt it, and the gentle stroke inside his soul became searing, molten iron, welded itself to him, and he could taste it like blood in his mouth. Felt it take hold, felt it PULL, and the angry, indomitable will of his twin, refusing to let him vanish into himself. Flooded with furious indignation and the first returning coherent thought, not his own; "brother, don't you DARE."

Nothingness replaced with 

Murphy. 

But there was nowhere to go. No way out. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing connecting him to the world. 

Panic took him, shook him, ran with him. 

Murphy, in his head, not thought, no, but the idea, the suggestion, the REALIZATION that something WAS there, and it already had him. And it did, he could feel it. Warm.

It wasn't Murphy, but it was someone, warm all around him.

His brother in his mind.

Arms, all around him.

The world, such as it was, returning in blinks of light, color, sound, motion as he shifted in the arms of whoever held him and wrapped himself around them, hanging on as equilibrium reestablished itself. 

He wasn't close enough, couldn't GET close enough, wanted to crawl right inside, pushing into them. 

He felt them hold tighter, pull him closer, heard his name, opened his eyes directly into Collins, not an inch away, staring back up at him.

For just a second, everything stilled....and then his heart skipped as a wave of stabbing desire broke over him, so intense he couldn't breathe. Instantly so hard it HURT...but this wasn't Murphy. This was Collin. 

He tried to pull back, tried to give him space but Collin wasn't letting go, if anything held him closer, PULLED him in...just as hard as he was, and god, god, how long had it been since anyone but Murphy had touched him? 

Collins voice came, soft in his ear. "It's ok, Connor. Go ahead if you want to."

Everything was so different. Kissing lips that weren't Murphy's, tasting someone else...and Collins hands on him, not the feathery, teasing, stroking touch he was used to, not at all. Collin, insistent, urgent, touching hard, touching deep...and god it felt so good....bringing him right to the edge, so close, so so close...and then, suddenly stopping, pulling his head down, again that quiet voice in his ear.

"Connor, I'm right there. Right there. If you touch me again, if you even move..."

"God, so'm I..." 

Collin pulled him in, mouth and hands everywhere, pushed against him, and his whispered "Jesus Connor, I'm coming…" was all it took to push him over. He came hard, harder than he could EVER remember, almost more than he could stand. It lingered on, little aftershocks that took his breath away. He was completely blown out, and their clothes hadn’t even had a chance to come off.

"Oh my CHRIST Collin...what the fuck WAS that?"

"All the years nobody's touched you but Murphy. And all the years nobody’s touched me but me. Connor..."

"Yeah..."

"If that's what makin' out with you is like...please can we fuck?"

"Yeah. Maybe not today."

"So...you back?"

"Christ yes I'm back. What's this..."

His fingers touched Collins face, came away bloody.

Collin sighed, wishing things didn't have to go bleak, so soon.

"Yours. As much as I DONT want to let you go, yet...we have to get you back upstairs. Ira and Murphy are gonna kill us both. You're three steps from the psych ward, bleeding....but look, wait a minute, we'll get to that. First we gotta fit in a couple mind bending orgasms."

"Priorities, Collin. We did it right. Jesus my head fucking hurts. Murphy's mad, by the way, like...really mad."

"Why? He said 'go get my brother' so I went and got his brother..."

"Not at you. I wasn't exactly paying attention and when I surfaced I kinda sent that..."

"So?"

"He's got needles in both hands and a tube in his dick."

"Oh...no."

"Yeah."

"That's gotta suck. But he won’t stay mad. Connor, he was so scared you’d never come back. When he couldn't get to you...he'll be too glad to see you to stay mad. Hey Donny, can you call Ira, let her know we're on our way?"

Donovan’s eyes stayed glued to the screen, fingers flitting over the keys, leaving Connor to marvel that he could read one thing, type another, and carry on a conversation.

"Sure. Way to keep sublimating that attraction, by the way."

"Fuck off."

"For real, Connor, first words out of his mouth when he saw you were; 'Don't let me make a move on him. Gonna have to sublimate this attraction'"

"It wasn't him, so much..."

"It will be next time."

He looked up, finally. "Seriously, Connor, are you ok?"

"For the moment."

"But...not really, huh."

"Not really."

"Not today...but...soon, when you feel a little better...there are some things we want to tell you. Nothing bad so don’t WORRY, I can see you starting, but…we decided you and Murphy need to be totally in the loop. So...come back down when you feel up to it. It'll help."

"Ok." Suddenly, impulsively, he leaned down and hugged him. "Sorry about all this. Thanks for helping me."

Donny hugged him back, smiling a little. "Shut up. Go see Murphy. Get some stitches. Finish your day."

Connor followed Collin out, the whisper of the keys clicking comfort into his ear.


	21. Chapter 21

"Jesus, will you look at this mess."

Connor eyed his brother, shaking his head.

Murphy, out like a light...and wasn’t that how Connor always found him these days...a drooling, snoring untidy sprawl that somehow invoked thoughts of skid row bums, it took Connor back to their drinking days, not a glorious nostalgia by any means when he remembered the trouble they'd always found, but amusing enough for all that it lacked glamour.

He never woke him, knowing that just his proximity would do it soon enough. It always did.

All he seemed to do, anymore, was sleep. Connor'd worried about it at first, bugging anyone who would listen with his worries, his doubts, but they'd assured him, over and over, that it was fine, it was perfect, it was why...how...he was finally getting better.

There was little doubt he was getting better, it was right there in front of him.

And he certainly was comfortable.

Connor envied him a little...hell, a lot. God knew, for him sleep was in short commodity. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the tendency to sleep light...ready to be awake in a split second...and he felt it. He'd thought he was beat to hell when they'd arrived, but the weeks since had taken their toll. Funny, wasn’t it, how finding a safe haven made his nerves screech, set his senses on high alert, pushed him right to the razors edge, sank in, kept on cutting. He was beyond exhausted.

He didn't envy Murphy what he'd been through...because Christ, hadn't it been horrific enough from HIS perspective, how much worse for Murphy ...to reach whatever it was that had, finally, allowed him the peace from his demons that let him sleep, but he did envy the result.

Gradually, as the days had passed and he'd slept, deep, long, dreaming...though at first only with Connor in the room, afraid to let him out of his sight after seeing what he'd done to himself in his madness, and how could Connor, in any good conscience, fault him for that... his broken body, finally, began to fix itself.

It seemed to Connor that his brother became more real, more himself, more the Murphy he'd always known, every time some alien bit of technology left his body.

He'd lost the catheter first, much to his relief, though not Connor’s, as it had brought on a fit of swearing about his moment with Collin, leaving Connor with no question at all about just how unimpressed his twin had been at being hit with a bolt of unbridled lust he could do nothing about. "Dick move, Conn. Dick move." "Pun intentional?" "Fuck off."

Bit by bit, less medical, more Murphy.

Medications discontinued as his pain left him, fevers ended, strength returned.

No miracle healing, though, this, because when had either of them ever been afforded a free miracle?

He'd had a bad couple of days when they'd capped off the tube keeping his stomach empty. Connor'd come in to find him, not in his now typical comfortable sprawl, but curled up, clutching a basin, miserably sick. He'd stayed with him, rubbing his back, holding the basin, pestering the nurses without mercy until Ira had finally had enough and told him to back off or leave. It had passed...days later, but it had...and they'd removed the tube.

Removed the drain, the IV lines, the monitors. The only thing left was the PICC, and that, they both knew, wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

He'd come in, one morning, to find a highly frustrated...and excruciatingly irritable...Murphy, pretending to watch TV...in reality brooding, Connor knew the look well...and chewing ice as if it were a mission.

He'd only been curious when he pointed to the cup and asked "What's up with that?"

He got back a tirade of cursing opinion on the incompetence of everyone and everything in the place, finished with "It's the only thing I can fuckin keep down."

Connor had been almost afraid to ask. "You ask 'em about it?"

Murphy'd shot him a look. "No, Connor, why would I do that?"

"Well don't yell at ME about it. What'd they say?"

"What they always say. Give it time."

Time wasn't much helping. Nobody seemed to know what the problem was, but if he couldn’t eat, they couldn't remove the PICC, and until they did they wouldn’t let him leave. Although free to get up and roam if he chose, they wouldn't let him off the hall. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Though he wasn't awake much, when he was, he was bored and stir crazy.

Watching him now, Connor was inclined to minimize the situation, frustrating as it was. Murphy LOOKED great, better than Connor did without a doubt. He'd gained back most of the weight he'd lost, and the seemingly permanent black circles under his eyes had disappeared. He looked, Connor thought, not a little resentful, a good ten years younger.

Let him eat ice and be bored.

The derisive snort from the bed told him his brother had caught the thought.

"Fuckin nice, Conn. Really."

"Don't snoop around in people’s heads, then."

Smiling, feeling a little evil but unable to help himself, Connor took another shot, "You tried beer, yet?", gratified by the string of curses it invoked.

"Sorry."

"You're not a bit sorry...what're you doing?"

"Getting in with you, fuckin push over, yeah?"

He did, barely waiting for Connor to settle before winding himself up in him, familiar tangle of arms and legs infinitely comforting, realizing suddenly how much he'd been craving this closeness.

"What's up, Conn? You miss me or is somethin wrong?"

"I miss you. I never see you awake anymore."

"You're never here, Conn. You're always..."

"Down in hacker hell, I know."

"You're not so good, either, up here..." He tapped his brother’s head. "You think you're hiding it from me but you..."

"Suck at that game. I do, I know. Do you know what's..." "Buggin you? Yeah."

He shifted a little, letting Connor’s head rest on his shoulder. "You're overthinking it, you know that."

"I'm not, Murph. The idea that we could..."

"You could..."

"I then. I could just...eliminate every threat before it ever came..." A shudder ran through him, soul deep, and he felt Murphy's hand in his hair, stroking and gentle.

"It's just an IDEA, Conn. If you could ever really do it it wouldn't bother you this much."

"I think I could."

"I KNOW you couldn't."

"How can you know that?"

"I know you. The idea of killing someone based on what they MIGHT do? It's tempting...so easy, right? So easy. Stop them before they ever touch anyone. But just the thought makes you sick because ANYONE can..."

"Change their mind. But Murphy. I..."

"Want to. I know. I get it. But you won't."

"But I want to. What does that make me, Murph?"

"Human. Wanting to get rid of a threat makes you human. Wanting to eliminate evil people before they can hurt anyone makes you a good man, Conn. But thinking about it till you can't take it anymore…that's making you crazy. You shut down like that many more times, you won't come back."

"Last couple times I haven't wanted to."

"I know."

"So why'd you make me? If you knew?"

"Do you mean that? You'd do that to me?"

"Didn't think about that."

"Wrong time to stop thinking."

"I don't think I'd do that to you on purpose."

"Me either. If I did I'd have just..."

"Knocked my teeth down my throat, I know. I can't leave it alone, Murphy."

"I know you can't. You're better when you're down in Geekville. All that..." his hands spidered over Connor’s head, skittered over his face, finger static..."It doesn't go away, but it goes way down."

"Yeah, with them my minds too busy to worry at things."

"You're better with them than you are with me. It's really strange for me...it's the first time I can remember that happening."

"Oh, Murphy, I'm..."

"N' no, it doesn't bother me! You apologize for it I'm stabbing you."

"In the eye?"

"In the eye. It's just strange, Conn. It doesn't hurt."

Connor pulled away a little, leaning on an arm to look down into his brother’s face, studying...and Murphy, finding the scrutiny uncomfortable, averted his eyes.

"No, look at me, Murph."

"What, Connor."

"You're different, now."

"Is that ok?"

"What if it wasn't?"

"It'd suck for you."

"No turning back?"

"No turning back."

Connor, relieved in an inexplicable, unimaginable way he would never explain or understand, leaned in, touched his face, kissed him, softly for a minute, then harder, deeper, loving Murphy's little throaty whine as he kissed him back, surprised when Murphy pushed him away.

"Are you tryin to fuckin KILL me?" He flung a hand at the window wall separating his room from the nurses’ desk, then at the open door.

Connor, disappointed but fighting laughter, had to concede. "I guess there's no privacy...but it's not like I was gonna DO anything. All I did was kiss you." He leaned in, did it again, only half a second to appreciate the groaned response before he was ducking Murphy's hand as it flew at his head.

"Connor, God fucking damn it! You know what you're doing to me. Don't you dare laugh...I swear to God..." Connor, all but strangling on laughter, climbed off the bed.

"Your hands're free...You get too worked up you can just..." "There are people in and outta here 24/7 Connor! It's not like I can just rub one out whenever I feel like it!"

"You're whispering really loud. Tell you what. Watch this, this is what thinking is good for." He crossed to the window and pulled the curtain shut. "I know, Murphy, I know, it won't keep 'em out. Gimme a second."

He went out to the desk and Murphy saw him in what appeared to be deeply serious conversation, saw the nurse on duty nod, open a drawer and hand something to him. He flashed it at Murphy, affixed it to a hook on the outside of the door and came back in, closing the door behind him.

"THAT, Murphy, is how you keep them out."

"What was that?" "It says no entry. I'll explain later. For now, though..." He stretched out next to Murphy again, kissed him hard, tugged on his hair a little, hearing the little whines of urgency he loved. "Even though fucking someone in the hospital is too weird even for me, I think we can fix your little problem. Just be quiet."

He wasn't...quite...ready for what he got.

He was used to a Murphy who was all deep, lazy, excruciatingly slow stroking, light teasing touches, long, sweet, unbelievable ascension....sex with Murphy was intense, unpredictable...it could take hours if he really wanted to take you there...or he could come at you fast and bring you in under a minute, just because he could. What he never was, was demanding. Or impatient. Or desperate. Until now.

He didn't last ten minutes before he started to shake, grabbed Connor’s face in his hands and growled "STOP makin out with me, I can't take it anymore, I can't wait any longer, just make me come, Connor!"

For a second, he was too shocked to move, staring in silent amazement, Murphy's quiet blue eyes positively blazing up at him.

"All right then..."

Murphy, whose whole world had been pain for far too long, finally free of it, feeling Connor as total bliss, no pain shadow at all, had been overwhelmed in seconds, his entire body one continuous erogenous zone, every touch making him shake. If Connor just kept kissing him he'd lose his mind. He'd surprised himself, grabbing Connor’s face and DEMANDING, but it all felt TOO good. Free of his saint, with no suspicion, no fear, no need to stay in control, he let go, crazy on sensation. Connor’s mouth on his, fingers flicking, thumbing, tugging his nipples and holy FUCK he'd always LOVED that, sucking them now, biting...God, he was shaking so hard it scared him, tried to touch Connor, found his hands pushed away "N' no, Murphy, JUST you.", went with it, breath coming in gasps, out of control, whole body jerking at every touch....He couldn't take it, it was too much. And Connor, reduced to the same moaning, whining, hissing mindlessness he was, was TEASING him, touching him everywhere but THERE, and fuck, one touch was all it would take, all it would take. He grabbed Connor’s hand, tried to force it down, felt him pull it away, tried to do it himself...pinned...Connor’s voice, "not yet..." God! Connor’s teeth at his nipples, his fingers skating across his belly, down the inside of his thighs, close but not touching, teasing..."Connor, c'mon, come on..." "are y'sure brother?" "Oh my God, Conn, yes..." Connor’s mouth, back on his, so fast he almost didn't feel it, back on his nipple, slow, sucking, suddenly gentle, and Christ he was close, Connor’s finger, brushing his balls, stroking...one hand suddenly clamped down on his mouth as the other clamped onto his dick, arching off the bed as Connor’s thumb rubbed the head, breathy voice in his ear, "come on then, brother", coming and coming and coming, my GOD, crying out, BITING into Connor’s hand....overcome, flinging his arms around him, face buried in his neck, Connor’s little laugh as his arms returned the embrace, coming down, still shaking, holding and being held not in fear, not in pain or sorrow or sadness or grief....this was joy.

Connor waited to speak until the shakes, Murphy's AND his, had faded away.

"Y'alright, there, Murph?"

"Oh my God."

"Still wish I hadn't kissed you?"

Murphy let him go, looking a little concerned. "Conn, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You wouldn't let me touch you."

"Oh, believe me, you didn't need to. Just watching you brought me like fucking crazy, you have no idea, and then, my sweet fucking Jesus, when you bit me..." He shook his hand out, eyes wide, showed Murphy the marks his teeth had left.

"You fuckin BIT me!"

"You liked it."

"He'll yes I did. You feel better?"

"All kinds of better."

"You tired?"

"No."

"No? No nap attacks coming on?"

"No, why?"

"You feel ok? Like....up to walking around?"

"I feel ok, Connor, WHY?!"

Connor climbed off him, retrieved the bag he'd brought, handed it to Murphy.

"If you're sure you're up to it, get dressed. I’m bustin you out for a little bit."

"Out?"

"Out. You remember out."

"Where to?"

"Hacker hell."


	22. Chapter 22

Even though they'd taken it slow, Connor well aware his brother hadn't walked more than a few feet in weeks, by the time they met Donovan at the main elevators Murphy was flagging badly.

Pale and shaky, he was having a hard time staying on his feet, and for the first time in a long while, things had begun to hurt.

Donovan’s critical eye took him in, face dubious. "I don't know, Murphy, you think maybe you should just go back? Maybe we can come to you..."

"Which is closer? "  
"Down."

"Let's go then. I'm ok, I'm just tired. He told me it's important."

"It is."

Donovan started the elevator down, watching, as always, for any indication that Connor had noticed the stop signal.

Surprisingly, or maybe not given how distinct their proclivities were, it was Murphy who caught it. They'd just passed three when he straightened, looked up at the speaker on the ceiling. "What was that?"

Smiling, Donovan stopped the car and keyed open the door. "That was the doorbell. Connor can't hear it. I wish he could, he could come down on his own."

Connor, unperturbed, nodded agreement. "Now that he can, I will."

"Is that how it works with you guys? Murphy, I'm gonna skip telling you how all this goes and just get you downstairs. You look like you need to sit down asap. I'm sorry we kinda pushed it, but..."  
He keyed the second elevator and Murphy understood Ira's airlock phrasing. Small didn't begin to cover it.

"..,we couldn't wait any longer. Our window to fill you in is about to close. I was going to stop here...this floor is housing and there's someone here you two have to meet.., but I think that needs to wait. You're not lookin so good."

Murphy wasn't feeling any better than he looked. The long, twisting walk, followed by two long elevators had pretty well maxxed him out.

Connor, fully supporting him now, took in his pallor with alarm. "You look like you're about to throw up, Murphy."

"I feel like it."

"Are you?"

Donovan, always practical. They stepped off the elevator and he slid a key into the apartment door.

"Cause the bathroom’s on the left. Sofas on the right. Go whatever direction you need."

"I'm not."

He headed for the sofa, bypassed sitting and went straight to stretched out, his relief palpable, color starting to come back almost at once.

"Conn, you didn't mention it was half a mile away."

"I'm sorry." He was, he felt like an ass. "I never really noticed how far it is. You gonna be ok?"

He looked as miserable as Murphy felt.

"Yeah." He could feel himself drifting and it felt good. It felt wonderful. "I just need a minute to not move."

His minute became considerably longer. He had barely finished speaking before his eyes closed.  
Donovan, smiling, reached for his hand and Connor saw that habitual act he'd grown so used to seeing here.

Fingers skimming wrist, gently pressing, tracing the pulse.

Seeing Connor’s glance, the worry on his face, he smiled again, spoke softly. "He's ok, Conn. He can sleep a while, we have a little time. Come on. Maybe it's better I talk to you first, anyway," noted his apprehensive glance at Murphy, his hesitation at leaving the room. " It's OK Connor, he's alright. Come on. Would you feel better if Terry brought his laptop in and kept an eye on him?"

"I would, if he won't mind."

"Course he won’t mind."

They passed into the kitchen, crazy inner sanctum that it was, and Connor felt reality tip, froze, rooted in place.

There was nobody there, room empty, screens dark, quiet.

"Donny where is everyone?!"

"Relax. They're here. This'll all be the total chaos you're used to soon enough. In here..."

He unlocked a door, opened it onto a considerably more restrained operation. Actual desks, manned by people not in their pajamas, not balancing steaming coffee on vibrating keyboards. "When we need backup, and it does happen...like today, Mark's sick, Collin and Terry and myself…we need to seriously meet with you and Murphy...well, these guys can’t handle our setup out there. This is the actual security office. We never use it. Terry!"

Connor saw Terrys face look up from behind a tower, a delighted grin breaking out on his face when he saw Connor.

"You made it! You were so late I wasn't sure you could come."

"We...got a little distracted. And Murph had a tough time getting down here. It took a while."

"Terry, do you mind hanging out with Murphy? He passed out as soon as he got here."

"He ok?"

"Yeah, I just want to let him sleep a little while and Connor’s nervous."

Terry, already mobile, grabbed his laptop, hugging Connor briefly as he passed. "You worry too much..."

Moments later he was on the floor, back resting against the sofa, eyes already on his work.

"Connor..."

Donny, passing through the office, breezed through a whirlwind of introduction. "That’s Troy, he's on the doors. Jesse, he's on interiors...and by the way you're not as private in Murphy's room as you think...don't weird out, I shut it down when you two started makin out, but be aware. All the rooms on Madison have live feeds."

"Why?"

"Come on through here, we'll leave these guys alone."

He led him through another set of locked doors, the warren of rooms considerably more complex than Connor had realized.

"We have a lot of high risk people coming to us. It's just another backup. If it really bothers you I can cut it off. I should have mentioned it a long time ago, I didn't think of it."

"You didn't think of it. All this time."

"I'm sorry, Connor. It was stupid. There was so much to show you, I really just forgot about it. Like I said, if it bothers you..."

"Up to Murphy, not me."

"I'll make sure I tell him today. Come on in here, I need to show you something. And then I guess we'll need to wake Murphy up. Collin’s already waiting for us..."

He was brought up short when Connor’s hand fastened...locked, immovable as steel...onto his arm.

"Stop right now."

In the space of a blink Connor had cut him off, blocking the door, holding him in place.

"Whatever it is you're up to, you tell me now. You're too nervous, you've now put two sets of locked doors between Murphy and me, you're about to make it three, and you're lying to me. All of a sudden my brother's under surveillance and I'm supposed to believe it's always been that way and you just FORGOT to mention it? You're a shitty liar, and YOU should be aware...I'm not someone you EVER want to lie to."

"Connor, let him go."

Collin, standing in the doorway Connor had blocked, eyes every bit as hard. "Right now you don't want to take us on, either. This situation is a lot more serious than you know and there's no time left. Donny, why isn't Murphy with you?"

"He was sick from the trip down. I left him asleep on the couch. Terrys with him, he's fine. What the fuck, you two. Connor, you're hurting me."

"I know."

"Connor, let him go."

Collin stepped from the doorway, his only intention...and he'd be mad at Connor for weeks for his reaction...to get close enough to speak without being overheard.

Connor, instincts fully activated, never even gave him a chance. One step...and Collin found himself on the floor, Connor’s foot on his throat, astonishingly enough still holding Donovan in a vice grip, eyes blazing, furious.

"One wrong move, Collin, one. I step down, you die. Is that really how you want to play this? Don't take you on, is that what you said? Does that make you my enemy now?"

"You don't have any enemies in this room, Connor, and we're trying to protect you from the ones you DO have."

Connor’s foot pressed down, slow. "Why did you separate us?"

"We didn't! I didn't know Murphy stayed out front. This is all so you'll know what's going on, why are you..."

Connor’s foot, pressing steadily into his throat, cut him off. "Why is my brother under surveillance?"

Unable to answer, Collin could only stare, helpless. Donovan, seemingly unflappable, answered for him. "He can't answer you if he can't breathe. The surveillance isn't new. It’s the whole place, not just Murphy"

Connor, able to feel the undeniable lie in his bones, pressed harder, only the confusing sense that, though they were lying, they had no nefarious intent, quelling his urge to stomp down and end this whole thing.

"Are you going to let me kill him? Half an inch, he's gone. Tell me the truth. Now."

Donovan’s eyes flickered to the ceiling, back to Connor’s face, up again. "Connor, listen to me, very carefully. We can stand here all day, there's nothing I can tell you. Do you understand me? It doesn't matter how long you hold us here, there's no secret I can reveal, there's no hidden agenda I can tell you about, there's no secret enlightenment about the camera's in Madison I can give you. Even if you kill him..." his eyes flicked up again, "I've got nothing for you. Please, let him up. He's only ever been good to you. All of us..."

Connor’s foot came up, slowly. "Go get Murphy. Now."

He let go and Donovan was out the door in a flash. Connor looked down at Collin, dispassionately.

"Get up. Don't say a word. You separated us. He's lying out his ass, and you're making threats. You're lucky you're not dead. Do you really think you can play people like me that way? You had better PRAY he's back here with my brother before I change my mind."

Collin, who couldn't have spoken anyway, was utterly livid, an observation Connor found reassuring. This level of indignant fury generally only came from the wrongfully accused.

The door opened behind him and he felt Murphy's hand slip into his, heard the door click shut, the lock slide into place, saw Terry, genuinely confused, Donovan, patient as always, deadly serious, and Collin, furious and hurt.

Donovan passed through them all, unlocked the door Collin had come through, held it open.

For better or worse, they went through.


	23. Chapter 23

It felt to Murphy like a movie, a television show, a story told by madmen, created of fever dreams and delirium. It bore no relation to reality as he knew it... though lies and false promises were by no means alien to him a betrayal on this level, if it could really even be called that...a non betrayal of epic proportions then...was beyond even his imaginings...and he kept waiting for the punchline.

It never came.

 

Donovan had just about had it. Weeks, months now, of keeping his silence, lies of omission, half-truths, veiled facts. And for what purpose? So two truly GOOD men wouldn't discover...What.  
That things HADN'T been as bad as they'd thought? That the price of knowing them was much less than they'd been led to believe? That they weren't the only ones out there? Weren't plague bearers? That there were other ways? To let them suffer...increase their suffering...in the name of protection? Who, exactly, was he protecting? From his perspective it certainly wasn't Connor or Murphy.

It was bullshit, and he was damned if he'd be a party to it any longer.

He'd taken a step...completely unauthorized, though in truth his was the only authority he needed....completely UNAPPROVED...toward the line when he'd introduced Connor to his world of codes and programs. When he'd seen how quickly he'd grasped it, how deftly he'd handled it, and pushed further, no longer merely showing, but teaching, he'd begun to step over his own grudgingly accepted boundary.

That he was fine with that, and after all, this place WAS up to him, seemed meaningless to those whose wishes he acceded to...acceded purely out of love, in an attempt to respect their viewpoints.

Look what their viewpoints had netted.

He was over it. His house had never before been run on lies, on secrets, and it wasn't about to become a standard.

He'd made the call...he was going to explain the house, the hospital, the safe ward, the process, and the network of houses around the world. He was going to introduce them to Jordan. And...the only trepidation in his long line of truths and running revelations...He was going to TEST Connor.

Of course, to do that he had to keep him sane and available, two increasingly iffy prospects thanks to his once again giving in to popular demand and not listening to Jordan, who had told them what was what with the twins from go. Had he gone with his gut, Murphy would have never had the chance to pull that gun on Ira and a nightmare of fallen dominos never would have come.

Too late now.

His only option was to go from here. Tell them everything. Trust in the fact that they were both decent men.

Never mind at all that he had to keep Murphy on his feet, and Connor from killing Collin, or vice versa given the outrage on Collins face.

What a clusterfuck this had turned out to be. A moment later, when Murphy excused himself to go throw up, he amended. NOW it was a clusterfuck.

Somewhat irrationally, a little on the edge of hysteria, he heard himself call into the bathroom, "Look at it this way, Murphy! No way left to go but up!", rewarded, insanely, by a laugh.  
Well, if he was laughing he wasn't that sick.

Stilling Connor with a glare, he crossed to the doorway, looked in on Murphy, felt guilt chewing at him. What'd he have this guy running around for, anyway? "I'm sorry, Murphy. I didn't know today would go this way. But look, you've been fighting that since the elevators. At least now you'll feel better."

Murphy, skeptical at best, accepted Donovan’s hand up. "If you say so. Can I get some ice?"

"Freezers over there. And if you want to lie down, you can, that futon cot thing sucks but it's something. You have to stay awake, though."

"I'll sit up, then."

Something in Donovan’s tone had brought it home to him. Whatever the truth was, it was about to be given over. Suddenly he was sure he didn't want to hear it.

Avoiding the futon cot thing, and there was no better description, he took in the space they'd landed in.

"This looks like a whole separate apartment."

"It is...or it was. It's kind of a hideout. Connor, did you understand what I said to you out there?"

"There was nothing you could say out loud, out there."

"We weren't trying to split you up. Honest to God, I just thought Murphy needed a break, and I wanted to talk to just you, first, anyway. I didn't want us overheard. Troy and Jesse are good guys, but this isn’t their business. And I don't need to be ratted out before I finish. But you're right, I'm a shitty liar. If you could all stop glaring at each other and sit down, we need to talk, and there's a lot and it needs to be fast. Collin was going to do the explaining but you stomped him in the throat. And by the way, another stunt like that and I don't care who you are, you're done. I know you're on edge and you have every right to be, but that was temper, Connor. He got lippy and you got mad, well fine, don't take it out on us."

"You know I wouldn't have killed him."

"So that means you can hurt him? He's your FRIEND. You stepped on his throat! Really, Connor? And YOU...”

He spun on Collin. "Of all the times to pick to get aggressive, and people to do it to, you pick Connor MacManus, when he's already stressed off his ass?"

"I wasn't trying to be aggressive, it all just came out wrong. I'm stressed too in case you forgot. You want me to explain all this shit?"

"Does it hurt to talk?"

"No. He didn't hurt me."

"Please, then. Terry...keep the peace."

"Thanks a lot."

"Where do you want me to start? Their questions, or the Murphy Ira thing, or Jordan or...What."

"Up to them"

"Guys?"

"I already asked you. Why the surveillance?"

"A lot of reasons. Mostly...Connor, he pulled a gun on Ira. She wants him gone. Murphy, don't look all hurt, you scared her to death, and unlike Connor, just now, you weren't even slightly provoked, and you would have hurt her. She knew it, just like I knew he WOULDNT really hurt me. You DID hurt her, Murphy, she loves you."

"If she wants me gone, why's she still..."

"She's still takin care of you, brother, because it's her job, and she doesn't want you dead."

"Pretty much, that's it. She started bugging for a camera in your room that day. Donny said no."

"How is it up to him?"

"Let me get to that. One thing at a time. He said no and it was no, but you changed, Murphy. Way too fast, way too sudden, way too complete. Nobody trusted it."

"You mean nobody trusted ME."

He couldn't help it, it hurt. He'd put all of his trust, and his life, in their hands without a backward glance...

"Murph."

Connor’s voice was soft. "They don't know. How can they know what you did? What would you think if it was you?"

"Murphy."

Donovan reached across the table, clasped his hand.

"Why are you different? What don't we know? What did you do?"

"I don't...Conn, help me."

"His Saint is gone."

"Meaning what?" Collin, unabashed wonder in his voice.

"Meaning, his Saint is gone. Have you seen it? Since that day?"

"Yours isn't, I can barely understand you."

"No. Mine isn't"

"Gone as in, what, dormant?"

Connor’s hand slammed the table, making even Murphy jump. "Gone as in GONE! Gone! Dead! Doesn't exist anymore!"

"Connor..."

"What, Murphy, what! Just tell 'em! You killed your saint!"

He forced himself to sit back, lit a cigarette...tossed one to Murphy...made himself calm down. "He's not changed, the saint is what changed him. He’s changed to you because you've never even met him, have you. THIS right here in front of you is Murphy. Has he raised a hand against any of you since then? Or spoken a bad word? You know you're right, he would have shot her."

His calm fled and here he was shouting again, "That's why he did it, didn't he? Killed it. Because Murphy doesn't HURT people and he couldn't allow that crazy fucking KILLER to live anymore. You told him to trust you. He did. He trusted you and killed the part of him that's been keeping him alive. And you put a camera in his room and want to toss him out, see where trust in so called good people gets you."

"That wasn't the only reason for the camera. Yeah, we wanted to see who he was when he was alone, or with just you..."

"You spied on him."

"Yes. But it was also to protect him."

Connor’s laugh, derisive, bitter, told them how much respect he gave that.

Murphy, far from over his hurt but nowhere close to shutting down the information stream, leaned forward, grabbed Connor’s lighter with a little smile. "First smoke in a couple months. Don't judge if I pass out. Protect me from what?"

Collin looked to Donovan, got the nod to you ahead.

"Over the last four weeks we've had...shit. Terry?"

"District, or US?"

"Both."

"We've had some thirteen thousand hits on Murphy through Districts main system. Not random keyword hits, this is someone actively looking for him. Additionally we've had more than twenty thousand active attempts to access OUR system, all looking for Murphy. JUST Murphy. Someone's pretty sure they know you're here, Murphy. Since nobody should even know we exist..."

"The fucking unsinkable Titanic..."

"Right, Connor. Terry, tell him the rest."

"We know who it is. What we don't know, is WHY."

"Tell me."

"Donny can show you."

"When we're done, Connor. We need our own machines for it and we can't use them with those guys here. They don't know half of what we do. There's more you two need to know. Murphy, you ok?"

"I really need to lie down."

"Go ahead."

"I don't know about staying awake."

"Try. Collin?"

"Connor, can you let that go till..."

"Yes. Keep going."

"I'm not going to try to explain Jordan. You'll meet him as soon as Murphy's up to it. The synopsis...He's old. We don't know for sure how old, he won't tell us. He did what you two did, killed bad men. He did it for more than sixty years. He's been our guide...kind of our Yoda, setting up  
the houses, the hospitals, the streets.

Right now we have six houses, three hospitals and an entire neighborhood dedicated solely to helping guys like you do what you do. When I say help, I mean help. Shelter, medical care, protection, technical assistance, and in some cases, when they can't..." His gaze flitted to Murphy, or won't do it anymore, we put hands on the street for them. They find them, we send someone to kill them."

"He won't even do that, y'know."

"I think I do know. He doesn't have to. We also provide asylum. When they want to stop, there's a safe place to go. And...when they go insane, and Connor...They ALL go insane, we take care of them, keep them safe...that's where Jordan is now. He's not safe to be around most of the time. He gets confused, has flashbacks...forgets when he is. But he's still so smart...helps us. If we'd listened to him instead of...whatever."

"That's what's happening to me?"

"Yes. It takes a long time, Connor. But it starts like this. He told us you'd last longer than anyone ever has, because you have Murphy."

"Crazy old man told you this?"

"That crazy old man told us all about you both, and he was right every time. We fucked up, and fucked you up in the process, because we decided to listen to someone else. Someone we thought knew better."

"Who? He's asleep, by the way."

"That's ok. I'd rather wait on who till he's awake, though. Donny, where you going?"

"To go get whatever they're running in him tonight. He's really wrung out. It'll help. Collin, you can keep on."

"Donovan, Ira won't just GIVE you..."

"Ira will do whatever I tell her to do. Connor. This is MY house. I own it...Yes it's a co-op, but the property belongs to me. I run it. I decide what goes on. Who comes in, who doesn't. For the two of you, I deferred to someone else. I really wish I hadn't."

"Would we be here?"

"If you wanted to be. But there would have been no secrets. Let me get Murphy taken care of, Connor, yeah?"

"One minute?"  
"You're so fucking infuriating. Go ahead, then."

"Is he safer down here?"

"SO much safer. We have eyes on him anyway, but this is like a bunker system, down here."

"How long since you've slept, Donny?"

I don't know. Days."

"Can I help?"

"Yes! But you may not want to when you hear the rest."

"I already know the rest. It was you I wasn't factoring in. I knew she wasn't doing it alone. I thought it was Bodhi, at first, but he's gone."

"He's not gone, he's trying to get someone to come in."

"He's your brother, yeah?

"Yeah. Connor, can I please take care of YOUR brother?"

"Are they together right now? Is it her he's trying to bring back?"

"Yes. Connor...how?"

"What, how'd I know? I've known since my first day here."

"Did Bodhi tell you?"

"God, no. I just THINK, Don. I pay attention. And our apartment smelled like her. I put it together. She lived there right up till we moved in, didn't she."

"She did. Murphy?"

"He wonders. He's been dreaming of her."

"How you think he'll take it? It's GOOD news."

"You have no idea how much he loved her....I don't know how he'll take it."

"She loves him just as much. It's why she's not here. "

"We'll see. So, it's you, Maura and Bodhi?"

"Yeah."

"All this."

"Yeah. And you, if you'll help us."

"I will."

"Murphy?"

"I don't know."

"Connor, let me get him feeling a little better. When he wakes up..."

"You want me to tell him?"

"Yeah! But it's not you who's been lying to him. I've wanted to tell him all this time..."

"So did Bodhi."

"She made us promise. I just...couldn't lie to you anymore."

"Can he stay?"

"There's never been any doubt. YOU I might throw out...Can I please go get this stuff?"

"Is she coming?"

"I think so. Connor..."

"Go, then, with yourself."

"Oh, hey...Connor. There's a test, later."

"What the fucks THAT mean?"

"See you in a couple. You need anything from upstairs?"

"No. Don...Is there more?"

"So much more, Connor. So much more."


	24. Chapter 24

He'd drifted off to voices, lyrical, cadenced. Slipped into a cycle of waking, talking, dreaming.

Woke to Donovan: "Murphy, is it ok if I hook this up? Man, it’s in such a weird place..."

"Do you know how?"

"I do. I was an EMT for a long time."

"Couldn't have been that long. You're like...twelve."

Ringing laugh, revelation. "I'm a little older than I look."

Who had said that? Bodhi? They WERE alike...

He'd followed the thought down, into sleep, riddled with half heard conversations, peopled with names he'd never heard, the scents of coffee and cigarette smoke. Deeper, into heavy dreaming, no breath of reality...dreaming he awoke, on the street, guts on fire in his hands, all of this his dying. Of a boy, bleeding out in his hands, no miraculous survival here. All a dream. There were no friends and of course he couldn't give up his saint.

Woke to tears on his face, Terry, holding his hand, "It's ok, Murphy, you were dreaming."

"None of this is real, Terry"

"It's real, I promise."  
Fell away, to a man...old, vicious, senseless. "I was young, I was young. I told them they'd never get you until one of you was dead or insane, I told them."

"Who are you?"

"I'm who you're going to be."

Sliding, the way it happens in dreams, into arms, soft, sweet, holding him...holding him together, tiny hand over his, over his gun, "put it down, sweetheart, you're ok. It's only me", into memory...sweet scented hair falling into his face, soft lips, warmth all around him, slipping inside her, lying in her arms as easy as breathing.

Surfaced again to Connor, wrapped around him, brushing away tears, murmuring comfort. "It's ok, brother, it's ok..."

Rising a little more, their voices clearing. Connor, worried. “I don't know why he's dreaming so strange, he's been sleeping like the whole world is peaceful..."

"It's us, Connor. He's hearing us and working it into his dreams."

"Then we should talk somewhere else. We should talk somewhere else anyway, no offense to your dungeon but I'm feeling a little buried alive."

In fact, he was feeling extraordinarily claustrophobic.

Murphy caught it, came all the way up, taking his brother’s hand. "It's ok, I'm awake. Got some nerves goin on there, brother? You're making my brain buzz."

"I'm sorry, Murph."

"Don't be. I'm ok. Will you grab me some ice?"

"Already did. Smokes too." Anxiety, rolling off him in waves.

"Conn...What."

"Nothing..."

"Doesn't feel like nothing."

"It's that feeling, something's right there but I can't quite get it. Driving me nuts. All day long, just... It just won't...lock in. Brother, I NEED you for this kinda thing. I feel like I've got only half a brain. Don, will you unhook him?"

"Yeah Connor, sure...what's wrong?"

"Something's... not right. Something's BEEN not right for a long while now. It's driving me crazier by the second. Murphy, come on."

He pulled him into the kitchen, trying to keep eyes on all of the screens at once. It was something to do with the screens...but not ONLY with the screens. It was right there, had been the whole time. He couldn't see it.

Frantically cataloging every piece of information he'd guessed or been given, figured out or suspected he SHOVED it at Murphy, in his frustration hitting infinitely harder than he'd intended, sent him reeling.

"Jesus Connor! What the fuck!"

"Oh...Murphy, sorry! I..."  
He saw his face, realized what he'd done, what Murphy now knew. Maura. "Oh fuck, Murphy..."

"No...No, Connor wait...wait."

"Connor, what... "

"Hang on, let him process for a minute. I just...Oh hell."

"Succinctly put, brother. Thanks for that. Headache oughta go away sometime around New Year’s. WHAT are you trying to figure out?! And why would you be afraid to tell me someone DIDN'T die? Are you all fucking nuts?"

He sank into a chair, gingerly rubbing his forehead. It wasn't the first time Connor had blasted him, he devoutly hoped it would be the last. "Maura, huh? Christ. How much did we miss her by?"

"About six hours. You're ok?"

"I'm glad she's alive. I'm not glad she posted a fake obituary to make sure I never went looking for her."

"Only to protect you, Murphy."

"I know. I...no...no hang on, that's not right."

"What..."

"Let me think!"

Now he understood Connor’s jitters, that sense that there was something hiding in the shadows. There WAS something off, something tied up in Maura, Bodhi, computers, Donny and Terry. Timing. Something about timing.

"Not Mark, he doesn't know anything about it."

Unaware he'd spoken, he didn't notice everyone's eyes on him, didn't notice Connor, suddenly on alert. He fell into what Connor had given him, let it merge with what he had...Timing. It had to do with timing.

All of it.

"Timing, Connor." Guttural, mumbled, his voice wasn't his own. "It's what's off. What you couldn't put your finger on. It's all been wrong, ever since we got here...that's why we couldn't seem to buy into it. Connor...we're not here because they wanted to help us."

A chorus of protest raised around him, and he held his hands up. "Ok, it's not ONLY because they wanted to help us."

He lapsed again into silence, Connor waving the others quiet as well. If they let him think, he'd either figure it out, or, more likely, take it to a linking point where, together, they'd get it. If he could still affect that link up. It had, after all, been a talent of the Saints.

"Murphy...let me in."

"No. You watch those...THAT...screen. Keep an eye on it. Part of this is there. Leave me be for a minute."

He let the swirl of thought take him again. It kept bringing him back to Maura, not in a maudlin, sloppy useless way and thank God for that, but that peculiar sense that the timing was wrong.

And...Bodhi. She'd told Bodhi he couldn't tell them who he was? That didn't make sense. He wasn't likely to assume that, just because one of his dead wasn't, they all weren't, and that wasn't a Maura type connection at all. He needed to know exactly what she'd said, and that wouldn't happen without Bodhi.

Some of it was ok.

She'd told him herself that, being followed, she'd never go to him, or tell him where she was. She knew him too well. Knew he'd stay away only so long before he'd risk it just to see her. She wouldn't let him do that and she'd made it clear.

It wasn't hard to believe she was alive. It had occurred to him often the first week here, as he found himself inexplicably expecting to SEE her, around odd corners, in unexpected doorways...random, meaningless, confusing...painful, especially given the absence of reason, though he knew the reason, now. She'd been there and he'd felt her, everywhere.

Alive? Yes, he thought so.

But...that was where sense ended, a clear drawn line in the sand, reality in the strip of solid ground, waves of madness stretching to the horizon.

She'd have never denied him the peace of knowing Bodhi had survived on his BEST day, she'd known how wrecked he'd been, had stayed. She'd have never let him continue to suffer that.

And more beyond the realm of rationality, knowing he was very probably dying when he arrived, having been there only hours before, she'd have never...NEVER...let him die thinking her blood was on his hands.

She wouldn't have done either of those things. He knew it as he knew his own name, knew his brother. Knew it without question.

Those two things...

There was no figuring out the Bodhi problem, not until he could talk to him.

Made them promise not to tell him she was alive? Maybe. At first. No, not maybe. Absolutely. But no, not when he was inches from death. And he'd been that sick when he'd arrived.

He'd been dying when he arrived.

She'd already been gone.

And that damned computer screen. What was it about that screen?

He wasn't getting it. Connor wasn't getting it.

 

Inside Murphy's mind, something... entwined and tangled with his soul... sparked, glittered into life, caught and flared, flamed up into being and...linked...with Connor, though not Connor entire...with the part of Connor Murphy had always insisted on calling his saint.

They felt it together, a slipping into place, the key in the lock of both of their minds as millions of half statements, unmet promises, incomplete answers and missing conversations cascaded, coalesced, clicked into place with a finality that was nearly audible. No longer simply Connor and Murphy...not quite the saints, because what Murphy had right now was as different from his saint as it was possible to be...but some emerging, unified THEM.

Their eyes met, and they had it.

Murphy, on his feet, eyes brilliant, blazing bright, meeting each man's gaze in turn.

"Tell me..."

They all started at his voice, Irish again, but not the dark, dangerous accent of the saints...No...this was all Murphy. "Exactly WHEN did she make you promise not to tell me she was alive? And while you're thinking about that, you might want to listen to Connor."

Connor’s eyes, fastened to the screen displaying Murphy's hospital room, never glanced their way. He pointed to the screen, and when he spoke, they knew they had engaged the saint. "How long would you say we've been down here, brother? What, about...Oh...sixteen, seventeen hours now would you say? And yet that screen, right there, hasn't changed once. Nobody's even been in that'd room! Now...I can see a few options here, the first of which is that the doctors and nurses of this hospital have absolutely no idea where a patient they're for all intents and purposes keeping alive has gone for the last sixteen hours, and don't care because they haven't even checked on him...How likely do y'suppose that is, Murph?"

"Not very likely."

"Not very likely indeed! Our second choice, which I'd say is just possible, is that they don't seem to care because they know exactly where he is, and even though he's got needles in his arteries they're fine with that. Murph?"

"Doubtful."

"Doubtful. Now, what I think, is they're in reality scurrying around like ants, up there, trying to locate him, and at least two of them are blowing up your phone's, which I can't help but notice haven't gone off all day. How's your phone, Murphy?"

"No signal. How's yours?"

"Also no signal. And we all know it's not because we're underground. I think, that this screen, isn't showing us anything but a picture. You agree, brother?"

"I do."

"I believe, Murphy, that we're being STALLED. Now, why do you suppose they'd want to do that?"

"I can't imagine."

Connor turned and faced them now, saw the fear in their eyes...and a bizarre...something. "What's that they're looking at us with, Murphy?"

Murphy glanced up, brief, casual..."Hope, maybe."

"Hope. Interesting. Terry, how long have we been here? Not today, in total."

"Nine weeks. Connor..."

"Sshh. Don't interrupt. I'm sure you have a lot of information not to give us, dozens more conversations to avoid..."

"Plenty of answers we're not gonna get and a boatload of promises not to keep."

Murphy looked at them with something close to disgust, went to the sofa, threw himself down, stretched out. "You've all made a big deal out of how we can trust you...bunch of politicians, you sound great but say nothing. We're going to have a talk, you three with us two. And plenty of information is going to be exchanged. Have you ever seen one of those movies…or read one of those stories...where it seems something dastardly is taking place, you're sure of it, it's killing you...and then it turns out it was all a big misunderstanding, and everything was really fine all along, and they all go home happy and in love? Yeah?"

He sat up abruptly, crossed between a smile and a snarl.

"This isn't that story."


	25. Chapter 25

He couldn't shake the sense of betrayal.

Connor, who'd known so much and kept it from him.

Maura, who'd let him suffer the blood of his guilt.

Bodhi, who'd pulled them in and disappeared.

These three, luring them with the promise of information...tantalizing teases of knowledge...just to get them out of the way for God knew what reason. 

That it bothered him so much was proof of just how weary of it all he was. How weary in general.

Epic non betrayal, because of course there had really been none once things were dissected. Just people being people. Everyone always had an agenda...except possibly Mark, mysteriously absent.  
Murphy found the timing of his illness to be extraordinarily convenient for the other three. Yeah, he wasn't sick, they'd just needed the guy who would honestly spill his guts the hell out of there.

What were they doing?

It was clear to both of them that nothing here was directed against them. There was no malice, none at all. They needed something, but rather than just TELL them what it was...

He felt Connor’s little nudge in his head, checking, looked up into his eyes, sparkling with a strange glee...He'd enjoyed scaring the bullshit right out of them with the little display of power and control, enjoyed the sensation of whole thought, missing since Murphy had closed down his saint...and Murphy couldn't deny, it felt good to him too... downright loved the complete lack of mental shadow in the room.  
None of them were hiding anything anymore.

But...he was so tired, in no way sharing Connor’s sense of absurd fun. He was rubbing his head again, forced himself to stop. If they thought there was any vulnerability he knew they'd use it, and Christ but he was sick of these cheap, political, non-answers.  
He nodded, sighing.

"Let's get it done quick, then, brother."

"It'll be quick."

Connor, still fairly crackling with energy, and feeling a bit like a principal addressing a band of unruly students, took their measure before sitting down.

Eyes downcast, shame stamped on every one of them, guilt, fear, on Terrys face tears, and yet still, that bizarre anticipation, relief...Murphy had said hope. Raw, naked need.  
He sat, waited for Murphy to join him, fighting the urge to laugh.

Ice and smokes. Priorities.

"Gentlemen.” His voice was quiet. "This is over. I'd not suggest any more games. You’re going to tell us, completely and succinctly, just exactly what's going on here and what you need from us. Murphy?"

Murphy's headache, building from queasy thumping, well into blinding, pulsed behind his eyes. He covered them with his hands for a minute, feeling his thoughts derail. There was some reason behind his questions but it was gone...lost behind Connor’s nuclear assault on his brain.

Sighing, knowing it would do no good to push it, he put his head down on his arms, waving somewhat vaguely toward Connor.

"Take it, Connor, my train just ran off the tracks. I don't even know what I'm asking."

"You alright, brother?"

"Not feelin great. Can we finish this?"

"Yeah." He took Murphy's arm, pulled him up, led him to the sofa and pushed him onto it, resting the back of his hand against his forehead for a moment. "You're fuckin hot, Murph. We don't even have to do this, if you're feelin sick, we can just go. What can they really have to tell us anyway?"

"Why they had to get us out of my room."

"Does it matter? It's naught against us, can you feel it?"

"Yeah, but I need to know. And you didn't notice my room for nothing, Conn."

"Murphy, what're y'talkin about?"

"There was nothing they said to us that was important enough that I had to come down here. And that loop of my room...if they didn't want us to see something up there they could have just shut it off. You wouldn't have noticed, it wouldn't have set off all that static in your head."

At Connor’s doubtful frown, he sat back up, eye to eye with his twin.

"Connor...you noticed, way down in, that nobody had been in that room. That screen was a total non-entity, there was no reason to look at it with me down here next to you. But you noticed and it bugged you. When did it get bad?"

"You mean when it woke you up? After Don went up and brought down all the IV stuff. And then it ran for almost six hours. You slept a long time..."

"But nobody ever checked. You NOTICED that. Even though there was no reason to. That makes it important. The smart thing for them to do would have been to shut it off...not put it on repeat and take the chance one of us would notice it. They had a reason and you got that. So please...”

He dropped back, spent.

"Find out why. They mean us absolutely no harm, but someone here does..."

"Murphy, no..."

"Yes. Things here…"

He tapped his head, Connor’s, his again.  
"They're connecting differently than before. Different things are clear in different ways."

"I know."

"But I still know when we're being hunted, brother. So do you, or you wouldn't have blown my head apart. Go find out what they know, and if they think..."

"It's even safe to go back up there. They don't think so, do they. Well. This is fuckin lovely."

"Go talk to them. Find out."

"He doesn't have to."

Collin, leaning against the door, was rubbing his head much the same way Murphy was.

"We could hear you both just fine. They're gonna keep an eye on the huge fucking situation we were hoping wasn't developing, if that’s ok with you guys? They're better at it than I am. Can I sit down? I'm just as tired as you guys."

Murphy moved his feet, made room, wordless, watching Collin flinch away from Connor’s scrutiny.

"There's a lot less complexity to it all than you think. That's our fault, we're so used to talking our way around awkward situations we just do it. Kings of redirection. We have to be." He looked toward the kitchen. "Nothing we do there is legal."

Connor, having already lost patience, actively resisting the urge to step on the guys throat again, reached for his face, turned it to his. "Spit it out."

Collin winced away, nodded, continued.

"The house and the hospital are exactly what we said. There are several, all over the world, set up by different teams but funded by us. All with the same purposes. A safe base of operations for people like you two, trying to accomplish what the law and justice system cant, with heavy duty technical and hands in the field assistance, protected medical services, housing, and safe haven for those who want to stop. AND for those who help them. End of story. The situation here is a little different because it's where WE live. We run security for everywhere from here, but here we create it all so new systems get tried out here first. There's more tech stuff going on here. This is also the only place we take in the..."

"Crazies, Collin?"

"Yeah. No offense to you two, that's why we brought you both here. The extra protection and the extra psychiatric availability, because Intel from the street said you were both going weird. Mostly because you looked so bad, Murphy."

"Why would that make us crazy?"

"Because you kept on. That's all there is to that. Usually, the way we handle people when they come in is guided by Jorden Alden. He's an expert on all of you. He's always spot on in his assessments, he's never steered us wrong. With you two, though, we had Maura contradicting everything he said. Because she KNEW you, we listened to her. She was wrong. Maura is the ONLY thing we've kept from you, and it was at her request. Murphy, I know there's something about that that bothers you, and when I finish you might have your answer, I don't know, and I don't want to jump ahead."

Keep going."

"We got you down here yesterday because we were afraid you were in danger upstairs."

He pointed to the looping video of Murphy's empty hospital room. "That's still up because we can't shut it down. That's not us trying to keep you from seeing what's going on upstairs. It's someone trying to keep US from seeing. Seeing you, presumably. We're not doing it. Terry spotted it yesterday...it ran for maybe half an hour and then kicked back to the live feed."

"Like a test."

"Exactly. Murphy, that's why we got you out. We don't know who...or what it is. It started to loop again right after you got down here. We can't break in. The thing is... any system can be hacked...even ours...but to hack a system you have to know it exists and you have to be able to gain access. Nobody not directly connected to us should know ours exists. It's a closed system. It links only to the surveillance systems in the other houses. It doesn't even go online. The one that does go online isn't linked to this one. We have multiple redundancies just so this can't happen. Nobody should know it exists, and even if they do they shouldn't be able to find it, let alone access it." realized his words were racing, made himself slow down.

"But, we've been hacked. Someone's in the system, it's not us and we can't find them. We're trying to hack back. We may not be. Nothing we're doing is working. It all keeps being overridden. It's not our program but our system is recognizing it as ours. It's someone IN our system. They're in the building, they have to be. It's one of our people, here. Have no idea who.

He paused, studied them both.

Unreadable...two sets of steely blue eyes, giving away nothing, though he thought he detected the faintest trace of resignation in Murphy, as if it only stood to reason.

In truth, it was Connor, fatalistic by nature, who found it unsurprising. Anyone could be bought, there were no exceptions. He'd known that from go.

Murphy, though he'd hide it completely until he was alone with Connor, and in truth felt utterly idiotic about it, was something near to devastated. 

He'd let it go, tried one more time to trust someone...and once again been sold out. 

He let it rest, blanketed in fevered weariness. He could cry about it later, if there was a later.

"What else, Collin."

"Maura and Bodhi."

"What about them."

"When Maura left, she gave us some very explicit instructions...about you. Bodhi had told her you were sick. She wanted to know ASAP if anything serious was wrong, so, if she had to, she could come back. And if it looked like you...wouldn't make it till she got here, we had to promise that one of us would tell you she was ok. But only if...y'know."

"It's ok, you don't have to say it. But it happened, nearly, and she didn't come and you didn't tell me."

"No. When Bodhi found you guys like you were, his first call was the med team, the second was Maura. She was on her way back before he hung up. Nobody could tell you anything, you were out."

He stopped again, distress clear in his face.

"She never showed up. Bodhi got a call from her the next morning. She told him she'd picked up a hard tail in Springfield. Because it was there, she had tried to call Bea, got no answer. She sent the cops over, the place was tossed. Bea was fine and none of your paperwork is kept there, but..."

"Did someone follow me when I went to meet with her?"

"Maybe, Connor, but I doubt it. They would have just followed you back here. I think someone found out you'd been there and had eyes out.

Maura was afraid to come back here, especially with Murphy in no condition to get out, so Bodhi went and met up with her. They've been trying to find out who it is, and shake them off, ever since. A couple of weeks ago they thought they were clear, and were both coming in. Again, they never made it back.

He called early last week on a prepaid, said they still had someone on them, and they'd tossed their phones because they were clicking. We should have KNOWN! Right then, we should have known. He called from a different one five days ago. Said they wouldn't be calling, wouldn't be back, they were being tailed HARD. Told us to hard flag them and keep eyes on....meaning real time tracking...and to tighten everything up, here. That was the same day we'd started getting thousands of hits on Murphy. We told him, he said he'd let Maura know. She called us back and told us to lock the place down and make sure you guys were safe. That's the last contact we had. Two days later they vanished from the system. We can't find them."

"What's that mean?"

"Their GPS isn't transmitting, or it's being blocked by something."

"No, what's it mean for THEM? You're not gonna tell me she's alive just to tell me somebody killed her."

"Murphy, we don't know."

"Well, what do you need from us?"

"From you, nothing. You're obviously getting sick again. Connor..."

Donovan’s voice broke in, not yet all the way to panic, quite a way from calm.

"Hey guys?! You better come look at this!"

"Murphy, don't get up..."

"Fuck that, Connor."

It took them a minute to understand what they were seeing, Murphy's voice finally breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"Jesus fucking Christ. How in the FUCK did that happen?"

Terry had pulled up the surveillance views of the property, expecting, as always, to find nothing out of the ordinary. What he'd found was as far from ordinary as he'd ever seen.

Every door, interior and exterior, stood open. Security doors swung, unlocked and free. The connecting fire doors between District One and Madison hung wide. Entry doors, always locked...open. 

Donovan, still trying even as he spoke, to urge a response from the computer, looked up, wild eyed. "I can't close them. Look!" He beat the keys with his fist. "It's totally disabled."

Collin stared, wide eyed for only a moment, burst into sudden motion, grabbing Connor by the hand. "Come on, help me! Don, we're going up to hard lock three, and the lower shafts. Get every door here hard locked, now. We'll get the front door when we come back. We've got about four minutes."

They'd been gone less than two when the lights went out.


	26. Chapter 26

A moment of silent darkness, broken by Donovan screaming curses at his hapless computer, a flicker, and somewhere, deep in the bowels of the sub basements, a hidden generator kicked on, washing the kitchen in a sick, orange glow.

Donovan, beating the keyboard in frustration, felt hands on his shoulders, on his neck, warm...too warm...fingers pushing into the knotted muscles. Soothing.

"Easy there, killer, beating that machine to death just makes it useless later."

He nodded, took a breath, tried to calm down.

"I know. I know. Just...this is really bad, Murphy, really bad...who knows what's going on upstairs... and now we're on the genny. It won't last. If we're lucky we'll get maybe 12 hours out of it. Come on, help me get everything turned off we don't need."

He spotted Terry feeling his way up the hall. "You got the back door locked?"

"Back door? Are you fucking kidding? I shut the vault doors. Nobody's coming through without a blowtorch. Are they back yet?"

"No. Don't you think shutting the big doors was a little bit of an overreaction? "

"Not a bit."

"God. Really? Start turning stuff off, Terry"

"You have vault doors? Like...bank vault doors? What happened just now?"

"We do. The front, too, but we can't shut it till Collin and Connor get back. We'll need to give them a minute, they're locking down three. Murphy, our friends, there, with the video loop hacked the power. We can't beat their hack with no juice. Fuckers. We'll get it back on. Murphy, gimme your hand."

"You don't know who they are or how they're doing anything, they opened every lock in the building and turned off all the power but 'you'll get it back on.'"

Donovan ignored the sarcasm, returning to the unshakeable demeanor Murphy had taken to considering his norm.

"Yeah, we'll get it back on. Eventually."

"Oh, eventually, good deal."

"Give me your hand."

He held it out. "Why?"

"Uh huh. Go sit down. Get some ice while we have it. When you touched my neck it felt like a fucking hot pack. Your hand's burning. HOW are you getting sick again?"

"I don't know, maybe running around like a crazy person at the mercy of a bunch of mad scientists."

Donovan sighed, rubbed his nose, nodded. "I guess that's probably right. Will you sit down?"

"When they get back. I think it's this, too."

He pulled up his shirt, pointed out the PICC port near his chest, the skin around it gone red, puffy and angry looking. "It's getting infected. Hurts like a bitch."

"Oh...man. Murphy, that's no good. That's in a huge vein...if they'd put it in the right place..."  
He broke off, looking miserable. "The best I can do is give you some Neosporin to rub on it."

"Would that help?"

"Won't do a fucking thing."

Murphy, by now feeling a lot like it was all just inevitably going to go to hell no matter what they did, shrugged it off. "Nothing's killed me so far."

"That's not entirely comforting, Murphy. Statistically...you're due to go any time."

"Thanks so much, for that, Don."

"Yeah, well. What you need to do is let me hook that up, take some Tylenol, find a bedroom and go to sleep."

"I can't take anything."

"Magnificent."

"How do you mean 'if they'd put it in the right place? ‘This is the second time you've mentioned that."

"I've just never seen a port so high up before. Usually they're..."

"Here?” Murphy turned his arm out, touched a faded bruise. "The first one was in my neck. Freaked me right out of my head. They moved it here. Now it's here."

"When did it get moved?"

"Few days ago."

"D'you know why?"

"No. I woke up and it'd been moved."

"They moved a central line and it didn't wake you up?!"

"No. Don, why?"

"Has Ira seen it?"

"Well...yeah, I suppose so. She doesn't really have anything much to do with it, but she checks everything all the time so she must have. WHY?"

"Does it hurt by the port, or inside your chest?"

"Both. Why won't you answer me?"

"I'm afraid I'm just being paranoid because of all this madness. I don't want to jump to any weird conclusions. I don't want YOU to. It's just not where it should be, and it virtually guarantees you'll have problems with it."

"What difference does it make where it goes in as long as it's in the right place inside?"

"It makes a difference."

He was interrupted by voices, distant, drifting toward them, weirdly echoing.

"What's that?"

"That'll be Collin and Connor" He started toward the front.

"Why do they sound so weird?"

"It's quieter than you're used to without the power humming. You don't notice how loud power is until it's out...when I was a kid I loved it when the power went out...." the words faded and he went momentarily hazy, shook himself out of it. "God, I'm tired."

Connor and Collin emerged from the gloom, identical expressions of worry on their faces, Connor migrating to Murphy's side as if magnetically drawn, instantly reaching for his hand, twining their fingers. Stressed...seeking calm.  
Pulling them both away and onto the sofa, he leaned in to whisper. "They want to barricade us down here. Collin says they have no idea what's going on upstairs and it's not safe to go up, but Murph..."

"There's people up there, I know. It bothers me, too."

"Do you want to go up?"

"I don't want to hide in some basement while more people get hurt. Probably because of us being here."

"Again"

"Again. Look at that door."

Collin and Donovan, struggling a little, were sliding out the emergency door.

Truly a door to a vault, thick steel, huge racked tumblers, lockable...and unlockable...only from the inside. It took both of them to slide it closed, lock it down.

Donovan, slightly winded, shook his head, looking skeptical. "I'm really not sure this is necessary. Hard locking access, yeah...but barricading the place like someone dropped a nuke seems a little excessive."

"Too bad." Collin headed for the kitchen and Terry, stumbling a little in the dark. "With these guys down here you want to take chances?"

Connor, more uneasy with every passing second...looking to Murphy, finding confirmation...interrupted.

"Hey...as much as we appreciate the protection, we can't just hide down here like rats in a hole. We have to go back. We have NO idea what might be happening up there."

Collin, unable to believe what he was hearing, spun on him, stomping back, stepped into his space. "That's EXACTLY why you're both staying down here! Until we get the system back up, we don't know what's up there. You can't just stroll in. Why do you think we got you out in the first place?"

Murphy, reaching for peace, took his hand and pulled him down next to them.

"Collin, answer a couple questions."

His tone, while still benign, didn't invite debate. "Do you know if the powers out to the whole place, or just here?"  
"It's definitely all the sub levels. Beyond that we won't know until we're back on line."

"Can't you call upstairs?"

"Phones are out. We didn't do it this time. We need the monitors."

"Will you know even then? It seems to me that whoever's doing this can show you whatever they want you to see. Do you even know, for sure, that they opened the doors?"

At Collins clear doubt, Murphy pushed on. "How do you know this whole thing isn't a huge distraction to keep you out of the way and busy?"  
Donovan, powerfully interested but openly skeptical, broke in.

"Keep us busy while they do what?"

"If it's us they're after, looking for us seems the likely reason."

Connor finished his thought. "Who knows who they might go through, or what they might do? We can't just sit here."

"Connor, we brought you here to protect you."

"Not at the expense of other people, you didn’t."

The sound of Terry, cursing at the computers, floated in on the silence, and Murphy stood up, pulled Connor with him.

"You can't see without that system, can you, genius?"

He said it gently, but the scorn was still evident. "We can. We can go up there and look while you work on this."

"The elevators won't work without power."

Connor’s derisive bark of a laugh cut him off. "Don't expect us for one moment to believe you'd trap yourselves down here with no way out. There are stairs."

"Locked stairs."

Connor’s patience gave out. "You have the fucking keys!"

"Well what about Murphy, then, Connor!?" Donovan’s temper, matched with Connor’s, exploded out of him and he was yelling again.

"Someone ran a PICC line into his ...fuck, you won’t understand it anyway, but it was a deliberate attempt to cause him serious problems! And it worked! He's running a fever...look at him, he hasn't stopped shivering...he's got all kinds of pain, the vein that line is in is hard as a goddamn rock! He's got a damn good infection going, and I know the tip of that line is out of position, maybe broken off entirely. Either of those could kill him! Do you really want him running around, climbing stairs..."

Murphy stepped close, touched Dons lips with a finger, "Can you help me with any of those things right now?"

"No, but..."

"Sshh. Will laying around down here help?"

"It'll be better than running around! As long as that line's in you..."

"Can you take it out?"

"What?"

"Can. You. Take. It. Out? Do you know how?"

"I know how. But you're already sick, Murphy."

Connor, at this point lacking all patience, snapped in his face. "Would it help?!"

"Some. It wouldn't make it safe for him to go running around. And if the tips broken off it would still leave it in there."

"If it's broken off it's in there anyway. Take it out."

"In the dark?"

Murphy's eyes flashed anger, molten, burning blue, and he grabbed Donovan by the neck, iron gripped, brutal, as remote from his earlier, gentle touch as a dogs bark from a human voice, pulled him close to his face. "Turn. On. A light."

His voice was hard, rage simmering just beneath the surface. What part of 'no more games' did these men fail to understand? "Am I clear? Turn on a light, take it out, put a fucking band aid on it, and let us go. No options. It's that or I'll pull it myself."

"Jesus no! I'll do it. Come on."

 

Connor watched, fascinated, concerned, impatient, as Murphy sat holding painfully hot compresses to the port.

Half an hour of pulling the line had failed to move it and Don had given up, afraid he'd hurt Murphy more. "I can't budge it. If I force it I could rupture the vein."  
"Why won't it come out?"  
"Your veins are going into spasm around it. Sort of holding on to it. It's the infection. I can still get it out but unfortunately it means you'll have to have a little patience."

Connor, pacing, smoking, everything patient wasn't, sank down next to his brother, feeling him shiver, despite the heat coming off him.

"Murph, why don't you stay down here? Let me..."

"No. I'm ok, Conn. Just try to cultivate a little patience. Don, how are you gonna get it out?"

Donovan, grudgingly using genny power running the microwave, returned with a steaming hot towel, folded it into a thick pack, pressed it to Murphy's chest, ignoring his hiss of pain at the heat.

"Hold that there till it cools off. Let me know and I'll replace it with another one. The heat should stop the spasms and let me take it out. You'll have to give it a little time, though."

"How much time?"

"As long as it takes, Connor. I'm going to check in with Terry. Come get me if you need anything."

He stalked out of the room, clearly upset, leaving the brothers alone. Each felt the other relax as the door closed, and Connor pulled Murphy close, let him rest against his side, felt the shivers that had refused to quit.

"He might be right, Murph. You might be better off just resting down here. That fever seems pretty bad."

"It is. I feel fucking awful. But he can't do anything about it. There're no meds down here I can take, laying around doesn't make me feel any better and won't help anyway. And I'd just be even more wound up not knowing what was going on."

"Well you know you'd KNOW, brother."

He tapped his head, smiled, hugged Murphy tighter. "But I'll not deny, I'd rather have you with me."

He paused, looking at the ceiling as if it would pass him some insight. "I don't think there'll be much running around. I think a lot of this is a distraction."

"I know, I do too. And you're not sure we're the targets. What happened when you went with Collin?"

"You can't tell??"

"Not really, my heads full of fever buzz."

"We got up to three, that old man they keep talking about was waiting at the door. He told me some very weird shit. Said the real 'target' here isn't us but some guy named Matthew. 'They' want to get rid of you because you'll protect him, but otherwise they think we're all used up and no threat. I'm a little insulted by that. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you don't know any Matthew you need to protect?"

"I don't think I know any Matthew at all."

"Collin won't tell me who he is, where he is, or what's so important. Says the old man’s crazy and not to listen to him."

"Which means we should definitely listen to him. This things cold."

Two painfully...vindictively hot, Murphy thought...compresses later, Donovan pulled the line with one quick, solid tug, breathing out relief when he saw it intact. He bandaged the site, sat back, wordless...everything he needed to say written on his face. Murphy stopped him, finger pressed to his lips again, knowing the touch was uncomfortably intimate, needing it too much, himself, to back off.

"I know you're worried. I know you feel like you need to protect us. But you have to understand. This is who we are."

Donovan shoved his hand away, pulling back, out of reach. "Fuck that, Murphy. You're not superheroes. You're just too stupid to know when to keep your heads down. You're exhausted, you're sick, and you're someone’s active target, so please, by all means, explain to me how it makes sense to walk right into the lion’s den."

Connor caught Murphy's little sideways smile, knew he was pissed off and about to do something underhanded, unfair and lowdown. He backed up...well out of range if Don decided to retaliate....and watched his brothers arm snake out, catch Donovan by the back of the neck and pull him in, saw his twin smile and plant a none too chaste kiss full on Donovan’s lips. He resisted Dons attempt to pull away just long enough to freak him out and calmly let him go, the smile he wore now slightly less benign, faintly expectant. If he'd been looking for an explosion, he'd have been disappointed. As it was, he got what he expected: Donovan, shocked, confused, not a little repulsed.

"WHY would you DO that?!" His temper, evident in his voice, barely restrained.

Murphy, entirely unrepentant, only nodded at him. "Now you're mad at me...makes it a lot harder to worry yourself sick. Can you get this door open?"

They stood together, eyeing a stairway that seemed to go endlessly upward.

"HOW many floors, Connor?"

"Six. Can you do it?"

"Honestly? I don't know. We'll find out, yeah?"

They started up...slow, all Murphy could manage, shredding Connor’s nerves.

"Murph, why'd you do that to Don? You know he's not..."

"I know." That faint little sideways smile again "But someone had to kiss him goodbye."

"Right. You knew he wouldn't like it."

"He pissed me off and I'm too tired to hit anyone. Hang on a minute."

He stopped, hanging on to the railing...not out of breath, still unable to breathe, waving Connor away. "I'm good. I'm just...I need a second. What're we doing if we ever get up there? You got a plan? I gotta sit down..."

"No, no no y'don’t..."

Connor caught him, hauled him back upright. "If you sit down we both know I'll never get you up again. I'm not leaving you here so....either you keep going up, or we take you back down and hope Don lets you back in."

"I don't want to be shut down there."

"I know. Come on."

It took the better part of an hour, and to Murphy, whose temperature climbed steadily with him, there seemed endless Escher landings, stairs leading into nowhere, unendingly up and up and up, undersides of flights above flipping reality, sending him reeling into false emptiness. He'd become so disoriented and dizzy, looking up at the bottoms of staircases, that he'd gone headfirst into two walls before Connor stopped letting go of him, come perilously close to vomiting, an eternity standing on nothing with Connor’s arms around him, feeling the world beyond pitch and yaw, his twins voice in his ear, low...grounding. "Stop looking up, brother. Stop looking up, just hang onto me and look ahead."

Close to gagging, pushing his twin away; "Let me go, I'm gonna throw up all over you."

Arms tightening around him. "D'you think I care? Besides, you're not. You're fine."

"Am I? "

"Yes."

"Ok."

Climbing, interminable.

"Look." Connor pointed ahead at the second floor landing, an exit sign, glowing red above the door. "Power's on."

Murphy nodded, staggered, swore.

"So fuckin dizzy, this is pissing me right the fuck off. S'quiet, too, you notice?"

"I have. Come on, one more flight.

"Where do we come out?"

"Collin said the back of E corridor. Staff rooms? He said you'd know your way from there "

"Know my way to where, Conn?"

"Back to your room, I guess."

"Are we going there????"

At the moment, the thought of bed sounded sublime, regardless of who might be waiting there to kill him.

"No, but it'll serve as an orientation point I guess. You ready?"

"You got your gun?"

"Do I ever not?"

"You got mine?"

"As it happens...."

"Give it over then."

"Ok?"

"Ok."

They opened the door.


	27. Chapter 27

Their first thought...connected more powerfully than ever by whatever Murphy's saint was becoming...upon emerging into daylight, electricity, normalcy, was that the whole last couple of days had been a dream.

There seemed no place, in this bright, clinical, busy scene of controlled chaos...typical of hospitals everywhere...for weirdly opened doors in oddly abandoned places...and hadn't they been? No sense of life interrupted, or business thrown into disarray, just a few people trying to close the doors... for pitch black basements, rolling steel doors, crazy old men spouting cryptic messages, or endless filthy black stairways to nowhere.

From their vantage point, giving onto a view of the intersecting corridor, housing Murphy's room, they saw only business as usual, no indication that anything had gone awry, or even that, close to 48 hours ago a high risk patient had gone missing. 

"It's a little too normal, brother."

"It is."

Here, where everything looked exactly as it always looked, its very normalcy threw their intuition, their clarity, into confusion, normal suddenly ominous. Foreboding, deeply dark, washed over them, weighed them down, and though no proof presented itself, they knew the truth...acted as one...reached for their guns.

There was no question...they were no longer safe here.

Murphy, wondering how long he could count on adrenaline to keep him going, flung his mind out, pulling from Connor’s, searching. If there was anyone here they could still trust, he'd feel it.

He jumped, shocked to his core, turned to Connor, saw resignation in his face, felt something too close to defeat in his twins soul.

Void. Bland neutrality.

Connor’s personal hell, made manifest.

"Is that you, doing that?" Disengaging even as he spoke, he felt Connor in his head, digging in, refusing to let him disconnect."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, don’t shut it down, we need to stay together."  
He rubbed his eyes, felt the ache starting behind them, spreading to the back of his throat, intensely, maddeningly close to tears. "I need to think."

"Think later."

"Murph, we don't know what we're walking into, and you're..."

"Stop. We never know what we're walking into, and I've been sicker than this for a long fucking time. I'll handle myself."

"Murphy! We came up here to see the extent of the blackout. The power's on. It doesn't look like anything's wrong up here at all. It all seems perfectly fine, I'm sure it's all completely wrong, I don't know why, I have no reason. I don't know where to go or what to do when I get there because I have no idea who the bad guys are if there even are any. None of this makes sense. So let me think about it for a goddamn minute."

Murphy heard none of it, the bolt of Connor’s shattering confusion pulled him away from words, set him deeper than he'd ever been in his brother’s mind. Savage, primal, unrelentingly emotional, nightmarishly sane...utterly unexpected. He’d always thought he knew his twins hidden depths, had never for a moment suspected this was in him...Drowning deep pools of terror, anguish, grief utter despair. How badly he'd needed this place to be real, these people to be friends, unspeakable hurt at another betrayal. Unendurable exhaustion...and all of his endless cycling thinking, figuring, struggling for reason, helplessness and confusion at their situation on a dimensional level that defied all understanding. Unemotional Connor, drowning in emotion he didn't understand, driven by thought, caught in a trap that defied rational thinking...once again betrayed, enemy unknown, unidentifiable, possibly nonexistent...nowhere to go that might be free of this non entity, no way to plan with nothing to plan for or against, unquantifiable danger. No ability to think it through...or think through it, with no idea what "it" was? Or even IF "it" was.

Flooded with sympathy and an affection for his brother he could almost taste, he pulled out of the depths of his brother’s mind, touched his face, caught his eyes and did as he always did.  
He broke it down, made it simple, every ounce of the choking despair in his twins mind distilled through him, clarified.

"Connor. Stop thinking."

"Murphy..."

"Let me take this one, Conn. This whole situation is incompatible with your brain, you're driving yourself over the edge trying to rationalize it. It's not rational, Connor. You can't make sense of it because it doesn't make sense. It's like you're trying to do a math problem with nothing but the plus sign. It's impossible. So stop trying. I've got this."

"Oh you do. What're you gonna do, then?"

"We're gonna do what we came to do, and go see what's going on."

"But..."

"Don't. There's nothing to think about. Come on."

It turned out to be just that simple. Many hours later, near sleep, entwined with his already sleeping twin, surrounded by soft darkness, glimmering moonlight, and Murphy's slow, deep breathing, it would make him smile. Leave it to Murphy to just...do it.

Things had fallen together with a freakish sort of bizarre cohesion.

They hadn't taken six steps beyond the stairwell door when Murphy felt it hit...provoking an unexpected deja vu harking back to the day Bodhi had found him and scraped him off the street, though this time, thankfully, it wasn't pain...sparking and tingling under his skin, stopping him in his tracks.

Nerves, tension, anxiety...none of it his.

Instinct tried to force him against the wall, to make himself small, told him to hide. Sheer bloody mindedness kept him right where he was, too sick of hiding to care what instinct had to say...and though he'd bless that stubborn streak later, in the moment it was almost his undoing.

He'd barely cleared the corridor junction when he heard someone, hysterical relief clear in their voice, shout his name. Had no time, even to focus, before he was barreled into, for a moment actually feeling his heart stop as arms wrapped tight around his neck, knocking him off his feet and into Connor. A split second...tear wet cheek pressed to his, babble of relieved exclamation in his ear and he knew they were alright.

Elena...sweet, kind, and god, the infinite number of painful nights she'd sat up with him, holding his hand...sat up with Connor, talking him down when his overwhelming fear for his twin threatened to undo him.

Elena, his overnight nurse until Ira, inexplicably and much to his dismay, had sent her elsewhere.

Relief, both his and Connor’s, flooded through him as he hugged her back, let her stream of words rush over him, felt, for the first time...because it was the first time he'd ever thought to try...just how much she loved him, loved them both.

He heard Connor’s voice, soothing little nothings to settle her down, felt his heart start beating again and gently disentangled himself.

"Elena..."

He tried to stem the flood of words, holding her hands, touching her face, finally, by no means wanting to, raising his voice, inflection a little sharper.

"Elena!" Finally.

"Oh, Murphy I'm so sorry, I'm just so relieved to see you."

"Believe me, I'm glad to see you too! Can you tell me what’s going on?"

That she knew, immediately, what he meant sent a bleakness into both of their hearts. So much for asylum.

"I knew something was wrong...Murphy you're burning up...we have to get you back to your room"

Connor’s initial alarm at Murphy's acquiescence was met with a soothing stroke, the sensation of warm fingers in his mind, and the very prosaic sight of his brothers little sideways smirk.

He was up to something. That it wasn't planned at all, and clearly fell into Murphy's philosophy of 'just do it' was really only cause for further alarm.

This time the touch was real, Murphy's hand, entirely too hot but familiar and comforting, gripping the back of his neck.

"Easy brother. What better way to find out what's gone awry than to pretend we haven't noticed? Settle. We're ok for now."

At a glance it was easy to believe all was well, and their sense that things were badly wrong was an illusion, fed by hacker induced paranoia, skewed and unreliable. For a moment, they indeed wondered if it was all in their heads.

As it so often seems to happen in life, the devil was in the details, and it was the little things that solidified their convictions. Easy to overlook, at most times causing the merest breath of a whisper of unease, with their senses on high alert they screeched discord.

Ironic that such screaming alarm came first from genuine loyalty to them.

Elena, relieved beyond description to have Murphy back, entirely ignoring the fact that she'd been taken off his case, gave him a once over that rivaled even Ira's in thoroughness, first praising the wisdom in removing the central line, her explanation the first checkmark on their increasingly long list of suspicions.

"Murphy, you don't know relieved I am that that's out. I wish it hadn't been our security guy who did it, but he did a good job. I told Ira it was wrong..."

"What was wrong with it, Elena?"

"Nothing hard to correct, that's what was so aggravating. You had a PICC. That's the wrong type of catheter for this placement. You don't insert a PICC here, and you never put it in this vein. In fact, if a PICC happens to migrate into this vein, you take it out. It's the wrong size, has the wrong tip...there's a huge risk of infection, blood clots....all they needed to do was change out the line. I put it in my notes, told Ira but she said it was fine. Honestly, Murphy, there's been a lot just lately about the way Ira's doing things that none of us are comfortable with, but I have the biggest mouth. That's why Ira moved me off your case. Didn't like me stirring up the troops I guess. We were going to talk to you about it but you just disappeared. The shift nurse said you'd gone for a walk with Connor but you never came back."

"What other things?"

"Well...the way she left your G tube capped, even though you clearly weren't able to tolerate it. That's just not the way it's done.

Vomiting like that is a sign that the GI system isn't ready, yet. She should have restarted the suction, waited a couple of days and tried again. The way she did it wasn't just miserable, Murphy. It was risky as hell. The complications you could have had...and of course, there's this thing about you not being able to eat or drink, still being on a central line. That should have been corrected the day we discovered it, it's not hard to fix."

"What's not? We don't even know why I can't eat, just that nothing stays down."

"Oh yes we do. This is exactly what's bothering all of us. Murphy, it's not that you can't keep anything down, it's that you can't get it down. The problem is esophageal...you can't swallow."

"Yes I can."

"Ice and spit? Murphy...can you live on that? You can't swallow functionally. When you try to swallow anything solid, or any liquid that's not ice cold, your esophagus spasms shut. Cold relieves it, that’s why you can eat ice but not just drink water. Although, you could probably swallow any liquid, provided it was cold enough. Have you tried?"

"No. Ira told me not to...Elena what caused it?"

"It's damage from that NG tube, Murphy. Easy to fix. There's no reason to..."

Connor, sick with the weight of black suspicion swirling in his head, and increasingly impatient with the time this was taking, cut her off.

"Aside from Murphy, has anything else weird gone on?"

"Depends on your definition of weird. We've had a lot of glitchy technical difficulties. Apparently the safelock system went down and we had to have the building rekeyed. I don't know much about it beyond all our keys went bad, but you can talk to Daniel, he knows all about that stuff. Half our cells quit working, most of them are ok now but there are still a few down. Yours were down, still, this morning...they were the first ones I noticed weren't working, too. Yours and Collins. The computers have been acting crazy, off and on. And then there are the people. People aren't around who always are, people ARE around who usually aren't. "

"You lose power?"

"No, not that I noticed."

"What people?" Murphy, rapidly reaching the end of his rope, heard himself bark the question, distantly sorry for it, the feeling too remote to matter. The headache he'd had, thumping sickly behind his eyes since his climb up from the sub levels, had intensified into a blinder that was rapidly approaching inhuman, and, completely in sync with Connor, he thought the whole thing was taking too long. He had the feel of being stalled, again, didn't like it...didn't like the place his mind kept insisting on putting Ira...at the moment didn't like Elena.

"What people what, Murphy?"

"Aren't around. Are around."

"Um...aren't around. Any of our security guys. You guys, of course, earlier. Bodhi was due back a week ago and hasn't shown up yet. Mark...you know Mark. He was admitted three days ago and..."

"He really WAS sick?"

"Yeah, gastro thing. Nasty. Ira admitted him so he could get IV fluids. She didn't discharge him, but he's gone."

"Gone where?”

"Nobody seems to know. He's not at home. Probably back in security, but since nobody can reach them…"

"We just left them, he’s not there...how come nobody's gone to check on them? We were with them till right before we got back, nobody ever came by"

"I don't know, Murphy. I don't know where it is, myself, but I can't imagine why nobody else did."

"And people who are here?"

"Logan, for one. He rekeyed the place for us when Dan couldn't reach security."

"Who's Logan?"

"Bodhi's brother. He lived here until about a year ago. He's been..."

"Was he ever security?"

"Yes, that's why he was able to rekey."

"So he's on good terms?"

"As far as I know. Guys....enough with the third degree, will you just tell me what's wrong?"

"No. Not yet. Can I get something for this fucking headache?"

"You need fluids, Murphy. You're running a temp and dehydrated. You need meds to knock down that fever..."

"Yeah, I doubt we have time. Forget it."

"Murph"

Connor’s hand stroked his back, matching stroke in his head.

"Settle down, brother. None of this is her fault. Elena..."

"Oh, Connor, it's ok. Murphy, if I knew what was wrong, I might be more help."

She regarded him for a moment, quiet. Connor could almost hear the wheels turning in her brain.

"Stay here, both of you. I'll be back in less than five minutes."

She returned in under three, ice choked glass of apple juice in one hand, syringe and ampoule in the other.

"Murphy, I want you to sip this juice. It's ice cold, I'm SURE you won't have any trouble with it. Your blood sugar is probably in the negative numbers, and you're dehydrated, neither of which is helping that headache. Will you try?"

He took it from her without the slightest hint of good grace, looking, to Connor, as if he'd be just as likely to throw it in her face as drink it.

Unimpressed by his glare, Elena loaded the syringe, swabbed his arm with alcohol, and, needle poised at his skin, looked him dead in the eye.

"I'm so sorry, but I don't have a doctor’s order to give you anything for that headache. If I give you anything it could cost me my license."

He stared back at her for a moment, the scales of instinct evenly hung between trust and suspicion, reached up to the back of her head and pulled her down, whispered something in her ear and Connor heard her soft reply; "I know."

Murphy let her go, nodded understanding, felt the needle slide in. She capped it off and handed it to Connor.

"You dropped this, put it back in your pocket. Murphy, drink that juice, you'll feel better. Connor, can you tell me what's wrong?"

Loving her, more than a little, for what she'd just done, he shook his head. "We don't yet know...I'll tell you what we have to go on...but can you answer a couple more questions for us?"

"I'll try."

"Can you think of ANY reason Ira would want to keep him out of commission? From what you said, it sounds like she wanted to keep him sick as long as she could. To keep him...which also means me...out of play."

"Connor, I can't imagine. The two of you saved her children. She loves you. I can't see her ever hurting him."

"But she did."

"It seems like it, yes. But no, I don't know why she would. Except....I feel like it would have to be something she thought was helping you. Like..."

"Like keeping us away from something?"

"Or just keeping you here, maybe? I just can't see her doing anything against you."

"But you have no idea?" "No. Connor, check me out, do your thing. I'm..."

"I know. One more thing and then he and I are going to go find her." "Connor, he should..."

"Not be running around, I know. But he's going to and not a one of us will stop him. One more question. Who's Matthew?"

"Which Matthew? There are a lot of Matthews here."

"One Murph would take a personal interest in protecting."

"Oh, I don't...did someone tell you that?"

"Yes. That this Matthew was a target, and that Murph was also, but only because Murph would protect him."

"Well I suppose it depends who told you, but they could have meant Maura’s son."

Murphy, finally starting to settle, felt his entire body slam back to Defcon 4.

"Maura has a son?!"

"She does. Half the people here are convinced he's yours, Murphy."

"Mine! No, I...I seriously doubt that. That's not something she'd have kept from me."

"Murphy..."

"Connor, you know her. She..."

"Shut up a minute. For the sake of discussion, if he WAS yours, does it clear up any of what’s been bothering you about her? This timing thing?"

"No. If anything it just makes it more confused. Elena, this kid lives here?"

"Sometimes. She moves him around with her if she's going to be gone long."

"He's here now? But she's been gone for months. Is that normal?"

"No...it isn't. No." "Elena, listen. Me and Conn, we're gonna go home. Can you..."

"Murphy, back to our apartment? Are you..."

"Yes. Elena, can you get in touch with Ira? Our phones are still out. Ask her to come by. Also, this Logan guy who rekeyed the place? Him too. I...can we get in? Will our keys work?"

"Oh, y'know, probably you'll need to get new ones from Logan."

"That's fine, can you let him know?" "Of course..."

"C'mere for a minute." Connor felt the link between them spark as Murphy pulled Elena close, hands on her face, stroking her hair, as he kissed her, long and lingering, a lovers kiss... as he read her, shamelessly and completely, all of it shared with Connor, their knowledge of her rudely, invasively complete. Satisfied, he let her go, saw her look and knew he'd been made. She knew what he'd done, caught on the cusp of anger and understanding. He took her hands in his, the regret in his eyes utterly honest.

"Elena, I'm SO sorry. But I need to ask you to do something for us, and I HAD to know. It's not something I could just ask. I had to KNOW. Can you understand?"

"What do you need?"

"I need you, first, to get Ira and Logan to come by. Tell them to wait a few hours, I'm fucking exhausted, but to PLEASE come by. Don't worry about the keys. We'll get in. Then I need you to go somewhere…you can't tell anyone you're going, or where it is, or that you've been. Absolutely no one, no matter how much you trust them. On our lives, Elena. When you get there, bring Collin and Donovan back with you to our place. Will you do that? Ok, listen carefully, this is how you get there..."


	28. Chapter 28

"Should you have done that?"

Murphy's sudden rush of random directions had Connor more than unsettled. Strange enough for Murphy to abruptly take point, he'd never, in Connor’s memory, put things into play with no communication between them.

Murphy taking control didn't bother him a bit, but Murphy giving him no clue whatsoever where he was going with this worked his nerves.

Even with an inside line into his twins mind, Murphy's ideation... Connor couldn't call that mess thought no matter how hard he worked to untangle it...flitting around in his head like so many magpies hopping from shiny spot to shiny spot and back, made no rational sense to him.  
The news that Ira had clearly been sabotaging Murphy's recovery, disturbing as it was, was the last thing in there Connor could put any kind of cogent meaning to. Everything else felt, to him, like Alice down the rabbit hole, disconnected and chaotic. Bodhi having another brother, former resident, trusted by the co-op, somehow looped into Maura having a child, the length of time she'd been gone...though they already knew something had happened with her, and with Bodhi, that had kept them away...flickering continually to the weird thing he had going about the timing of everyone’s departures and arrivals, and now this drive...frantic and adrenaline driven...to get back to their home...and what was the shit with the keys? Rekeying the electronic locks in the hospital wouldn't have anything to do with their hard keys unlocking their own door so why had he brought it up? And sending Elena down the stairs to bang on those vault doors, somehow be heard and get them back up here? Ira, nobody they could any longer trust, and Bodhi's brother, a stranger, just...dropping by?"

"Murphy!"

"What."

"Why did you send her down there?"

"The phones don't work."

Though, to Connor’s way of thinking that was no information whatsoever, it seemed perfectly sufficient to Murphy, who gave no indication of any forthcoming clarification.

"But should you have sent her down there, Murphy?"

"I don't know, Conn, but I have to talk to them and I can't make it down and back again, not right now. Juice and painkillers are great but I'm runnin on empty here. And I don't want to split up. Will you take us home?"

"Yeah, of course. But...why do you want to go there?"

"Is there someplace else?"

"No. But you've got something going on in your head...Murph, where are you going with this?"

"If I could say it, I would have already, Connor. I can't...I don't exactly know why, but...I know where to go now."

"Murphy, everything in your head is a tangle."

"I know, it is for me too. I'm so fucking tired I don't even know what I've figured out. I just know...I have to HEAR Ira and this Logan dude. And we HAVE to go home. You've been staying there, right?"

"I have, yeah. Where else? Murphy. .. HEAR them?"

"Hear their voices. And I have to talk to Collin or Don...one of them, both of them, I don't know. It's RIGHT THERE, Conn, but...I don't even care right now. I just need to go home. Right now that's all that matters to me. Right now, this minute, I just want to go home. Everything else...just...later."

"Bad guys don't often accommodate 'later', Murph."

"I know. Is it far?"

"It's a bit of a walk."

"Of course it is."

Played out. That was how he felt, there were no other words. The bit of a walk had used up the last of him, he felt of the fever still simmering his veins, the exhaustion of all the truly idiotic activity of the last couple of days.

Horrifically tired, a little bit sick....though by no means the black, mortal sickness that had been in him the last time he was here. Just...

Played. Out.

He wondered, ruefully amused, how that would go over with the people who still insisted on thinking the two of them somehow superhuman.

Get the score and go, everyone, this guy’s game, at least for now, is over. Sorry folks, no tie breaker, no extra innings, no sudden death overtime, no slo-mo replay. All he had left in him, right now, was a nap on the bench.

As he watched Connor, slotting what seemed a hundred keys into a hundred locks, his grinding need for rest a weird and shaking hunger inside him, he found himself hoping that if any bad guys decided to come after him today, they'd have the decency to come in quietly and kill him in his sleep.

Connor’s little laugh...he'd caught the thought...made him smile, and the unexpected, overwhelming shimmer of relief that cascaded over him when the door opened made him laugh, really laugh, something like joy lighting him inside for the first time in years.

Connor’s presence was everywhere in here, glimmering little flashes of him on everything he'd touched, every place he'd been, in the air itself. He'd been...was now...truly at home here, at rest and safe, this WAS Connor’s home...and so it was his.

Still smiling, loving the familiar essence of his twin all around him, so different from the constantly shifting presence of hospital staff, neutral, paid to care, flowing in and out like so many small rivers, he knew he'd been right. This was where he needed to be, this was where they'd be their strongest.  
Connor’s arms came around him from behind and he leaned back into him, breathing in Connor, breathing out all of the tension, confusion, fear that had been hiding inside him, lurking behind the thin crust of normalcy he'd forced into formation, disguised as trust, breathed it out...let it go.  
Everything frightening him could be...would be...dealt with later.  
Right now there was this...home, with Connor’s arms around him.

They hadn't much time, knew they wouldn't. People would be here, soon, at their invitation...blindly coming into their territory, how unwise of them, but then, of course they didn't know they'd been made... ostensibly to "check" on them, on Murphy, in point of fact their enemies...and they knew they had them now.

Friends as well, to give up information they didn’t even know they possessed, information that would spill out, unbanked, free flowing when faced with the combined force of the two of them on home ground...the force of the Saints, because while Murphy could jettison the crazed, feral, homicidal evil that had formed in him, had done so irrevocably, he could no more throw off his saint than he could his essence of being. He WAS his saint was him, made up of all the little things that made him Murphy, as inevitable as all of these little gleams of Connor everywhere he looked.  
Against the two of them, connected and at home....nobody stood a chance.

That would all be later. Now was theirs.

Murphy slid around in Connor’s arms, pulled him in and kissed him, exhaustion draining out of him, knowing that he was minutes away from, finally, TOUCHING him...startled, momentarily dismayed when Connor, rather than pressing close, moving into him, shuddered violently, arching away from him harder than he could hold him there, the reaction overwhelming and utterly involuntary, stood there shaking...Murphy's dismay shifting to awe as he realized it wasn't revulsion that had torn his twin from his arms, but desire so intense it had taken him, shaken him, seized his body in reaction completely beyond his control.

He stepped back, giving him the space to ride it out. Waited for him.

For Connor, who'd never before experienced anything remotely on this level, it was far from pleasant. He'd heard it said that there were things that felt too good to be borne...suspected this was one of them. At the touch of Murphy's mouth on his, and the realization that, in a blink of a moment, it would...finally, FINALLY!! be just THEM, breathing each other, completely connected, skin on skin, he'd felt himself TAKEN, taken over, too many primal, instinctive reactions at once, a live wire touched to the base of his brain. Shudders, nearly convulsive in their intensity, running through him, every muscle in his body reacting so violently he'd felt himself flung away, unable to prevent it....no sensation of what he knew as desire...not simply turned on but cranked all the way up, full to distortion...just this uncontrollable, arching shudder, shaking him apart...too much need, all at once.

He felt Murphy step away, knew he was trying to let him process, knew it wouldn't work. 

He was shaking so hard he could barely stand. Time stopped, primal need took over.

He had no idea how they got from their kitchen to his bedroom, a blink and he was just... there, Murphy beside him. Another blink and they were wrapped in each other, clothes gone, skin on skin...and he had no memory of that, either, just Murphy, lying next to him, around him, above him...as near to inside his skin as he could get, holding tight, kissing him, long and slow and deep, patient, letting this wracking, shaking, seizing reaction work itself out, letting it sink in...they were here, this was real, this was happening.

They both felt it...not so much subside as transmute into something less possessing, less out of control, felt Connor start breathing again. Connected on every level, they both shifted into intense, aching, stabbing desire, rock hard against each other and already riding the edge.

"Murphy, don't move"

The breath of a whisper, and Murphy stilled, looking down at his twin through a curtain of hair, longer than it had ever been, long enough to brush Connor’s face when he leaned in to kiss him, sending another shock of trembling through him as he reached up, twining his fingers through it, watched it slip through them, silk rain.

"God...look at you. You're so beautiful."

Murphy, overcome, only kissed him, harder, deeper, felt Connor’s hands in his hair pulling him closer.

"Can I move yet?"

"Christ, yes."

  
In seconds they were lost, the world gone, nothing left but them and, as so often it happened they lost any ability to differentiate between themselves, became one...long, hard kisses, thumbing, licking, biting nipples, hands reaching down, stroking, pressing, fingering slits, slipping back, slipping inside, pushing in, staying in, pressed against each other, hard, aching, pulsing, rubbing together...they'd found this long ago...fingers slipped in and up, pressing and pressing and pressing, aching dicks pressed together, moving in sync, it had felt so good they couldn't believe it, spiraling up and up and up, words reduced to gasps, moans, cries... dipping down to lick...or bite...a nipple, taking each other to the edge, and who knew, anymore, where one began and the other ended? Always together, always in sync, bringing each other close, holding back, again and again until someone couldn't take it anymore...this time it was Connor "God, I'm close...so close. Don't stop." eyes staring into eyes, needing to see each other come; "Murphy, Jesus Murphy! I'm coming..."

Murphy, only seconds behind, biting into his nipple, seeing, hearing, FEELING it jack his brother into overdrive, felt him come so hard it hurt, came right behind him...still pressed hard together, pulsing against each other, bringing little aftershocks that went on, and on...tapering off, slowing down, subsiding, minds disengaging a their bodies did, single identity sliding back into individual, almost imperceptible...becoming separate, becoming themselves again. And to think, people wondered why they did this. Why, given a choice, they would always choose each other. Connor, a little giddy, and who could blame him, found himself suddenly recalling a conversation with Collin, who hadn't been freaked out in the least by the information that the twins were their own favorite sex partners. Eyes wide and serious, he'd nodded emphatically. "Fuck, yes! Are you kidding?! If I could fuck someone I had a mind meld with I wouldn't give a damn WHO it was, it could be my GRANDMA for all I'd care, that must be SO amazing..." Laughing a little, now, gently disentangling himself, he relayed the comment to Murphy, getting back a tired smile, and a very faint, a little too faint,

"I knew there was a reason I liked him."

Connor, hearing the weakness in his voice, slid from languid post coital to concerned brother in under a second, pressing the back of his hand to his brother’s head, feeling the heat there. "Oh, Murphy. We shouldn't have done that. You should have caught a little sleep....hang on a sec."

He was back, from Murphy's perspective, before he even left, and he knew he'd been asleep for a minute.

Micro sleep...disorienting and weird...he hated it.

"Here."

Connor, pushing something into his hand. Cold....it felt good in his hand, pressed it to his head, heard Connor laugh.

"Drink that, don't wear it."

"Feels good, though."

He looked at it, ice clogged...and green. Really green. Neon, sort of.

"Connor, nothing in nature is this color. What is it?"

"Gatorade, it's all that's here other than booze. I know, I know, you hate that shit. It's better than dying of dehydration. Drink it."

He climbed back onto the bed, letting Murphy settle against him, felt the heat coming off him.

"I wish she'd given you something to knock out that fever..."

"Both of us. Headache's back, too. How long you think we have till this shitstorm begins?"

"I can't even guess...brother, you have so many balls in play right now...probably long enough to sleep a little. You told Elena to give you a couple hours."

"I wish. I need your brain, though, before...Conn, this could get so ugly."

"I know. You're thinking about Ira."

"Trying to convince myself she's not...I never really checked her out. She's so much like Maura, how she talks? I sort of trusted her by default. And... I figured if she wanted me dead, she had me wide open on a table and already most of the way there. But she saved me, so...."

"Did she, though? Was it her?"

Murphy, brought up short, felt himself mentally stall. They'd thought so, and she certainly hadn't disabused them of the notion, but...

"I guess she might not have. Bad shit always happens when you trust people, see? Conn, I know you're trying to untangle this weird path I'm on. I don't think you can, but....can you reroute it through you? If I give you what I have..."

"Yeah, I think so, but say it to me. Words, Murph, use your words."

Trying for a smile, he got it, tired but better than nothing.

"I can't translate Murphythink on a good day and have it make sense."

"I make sense!"

"Only to you, brother. Only to you. Now talk to me. And drink that."

"I am. Connor...augh, I don't KNOW why I think what I think! It's all just...static with stuff underneath it. "

"Don't worry about why, just tell me what. And DRINK THAT!"

"I AM!"

"You're not."

"It's disgusting. Connor...I think Maura's been gone since way before we got here. WAY before. I don't think she cut out the day we got here. I think she'd BEEN gone."

"What, you think Collin and them are lying?"

"No. I think they don't know. I also think Bodhi's been gone longer... and not where or why they think. I don't think he left to go get her, it doesn't make any sense at all. Nothing they said SHE said makes sense, either. I need to talk to them to make sure, but I don't think ANY of these conversations they told us about were face to face. And I'm sure it was this Logan dude who hacked them. Except...those thousands of hits they got on me? You know how to...to read that stuff, right?"

"Yeah, but they're shut down."

"What about your laptop? I know you have all their codes and passwords, can you get into it up here?"

"I...yeah, I can. Come on out here."

He headed for the laptop, turned it on, waiting.

"Murphy, the only people who know I have access...or even a computer... should be our basement dwellers. So if we're lucky..."

"Are we ever?"

"Pessimist. IF we're lucky this should be up and running like everyone else's cells, but what do you think it'll tell me? What is it you want to know?"

"Well I don't fuckin know, Connor, you're the one who's good at that. But I think....it's not what they think. Why would someone, who clearly already knows I'm here, pretend to be looking for me? They have access to the whole system, they know I'm here, so...why call attention to themselves?"

"To get someone's attention...yeah, we're up and look...this is it, it's just repeating constantly."

"Why? And Connor...Bodhi. You last saw him while I was in surgery, right? He said he'd be back, never showed? I saw him when I woke up, before I saw you. He was SO PISSED at us, but after he yelled at me he told me he was gonna get some sleep and come back, but he'd send you in before he left. You didn't come in for hours, Conn."

"No, Bodhi didn't tell me, Ira did, but he could've told her to."

"Why, though? And Maura...I totally get it, her wanting off my radar, but once she decided to try to bring us in there would have been no point. And having Bodhi not tell me who he is? NO earthly reason. Once she knew we were coming, no reason to hide, she'd have hung around, there would be no reason not to. And even if she had stuff to do, would she really leave some lame message to tell me she was alive only if I was about to die?"

"No, that bothered me too. If she was as in and out here as they say it would have been normal...nothing to draw fire. And the condition you were in, she'd have been here. But they weren't lying, Murph. For sure."

"I know. You notice how much Donovan sounds like Bodhi? I knew they were brothers by Donovan's voice. I want to know if Logan's the same."

"You think they've been on the phone with people they think are Bodhi and Maura, but are really Logan and.....oh Murphy, do they sound that much alike?"

"I want you to listen to her."

"I have. I never noticed her sounding like Maura...but the CONTENT is sure the same, they both curse like truckers. Still...on the phone that could be enough."

"Conn, if this paranoid shit turns out to be right, where does it leave Bodhi and Maura?"

Staring at the laptop, his expression unreadable even to Murphy, he didn't answer right away, fixing Murphy with a glance as intriguing as it was inscrutable. "I...hang on." He crossed to the desk, rummaged around, came up with a dog-eared notebook.

"They consider me..." he tossed it onto the coffee table, next to the laptop "...a fucking luddite because I still write things with a pen, on actual paper."

Ignoring said paper, for the moment, he went into the bedroom, came out with the cup of melted ice and Gatorade, now frighteningly layered in the glass, poured it out and refilled it, this time adding a hefty shot of vodka and shoving it at his brother, bringing the rest of the bottle with him.

"Now will you drink it? I think you might need it for this."

"For what?"

Flipping through the notebook, he checked an entry against the seemingly permanent scroll on the screen, nodded, and slugged a swallow of vodka straight from the bottle.

"I think this..." he tapped the screen, "might be Bodhi. And this..." he waved the notebook in Murphy's face "...crossed with this...don't glaze over like that, this is as techie as I get...says it's coming from here."

"Here where?"

"Here here! This building."

"That can't be right, the guys would've..."

"They did. They said it was someone here. The same person hacking their system. I don't think it is. In fact, I'm positive it's not. I think it's Bodhi, trying to get their attention."

"If they have him stashed they didn't give him a computer, Connor. They're not letting him sit there and hack them back."

"All he'd have needed was a second to trigger this. It's a program, Murphy. Set to loop this alert, probably until he shuts it down."

"And nobody downstairs would have thought of it?"

"They were all so distracted, Murph. They're being hacked from inside the building, this is coming from inside the building, case closed."

"But you don't think so."

"No."

"Why?"

"Why'd you ask me to check it? Because you don't think so, either."


	29. evening interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stepping stone to the other side. I was listening to the song "morning final" and it put this image in my head. Had to work it in.

He sat in the window, back against one side, one foot pushed against the wall, one resting on the fire escape, watching the traffic....drivers unaware, not that they'd have cared if they had known, of the crisis occurring three stories above their heads...streaming past, destinations unknown.

There was a breeze, natural or the product of traffic, he didn't know, didn't care, only knew it felt good against his skin, soft and cool, easing the fever heat that burned there, seconds of relief at a time.

The only relief, that and the sun, sinking low now, almost gone for the day, and his eyes shifted to it, tried to hold it, desperate to make it last, just a little bit longer.

The feeling, deep inside him, that it would be the last time he would see the sun, vague at first, easily laughed off, had swelled until it became an all-encompassing conviction, a certainty with no work around, and he felt tears prick his eyes as the light, not interested in his longing desperation, refused to linger, giving way to that strange greypurpleblue he'd only ever seen in Boston, and only in the spring...not the burgeoning joyful season of new life the poets dreamed, but the cold, dismal, wet slush of mud and winters old thawed dog shit...an inescapable reminder that winter still held sway, no matter the calendar date, no matter the need for just one warm day...

He'd lost the winter. It had barely begun when he'd arrived, and here it was, struggling to hold on...and in that he could relate...refusing to relinquish its reign, this cold, weird twilight proof.

He understood.

Just as the new, dismal Boston spring would inevitably vanquish winter as if it had never been, the new sickness inside him, or maybe just the old hurt finally waking up and realizing it had been on the cusp of impossible cure, would call his time before this newly begun night gave way to morning.

He knew it. Felt it. The evidence, after all, was right out there, just shy of his foot, increasing its territory as nausea rose in him, again, and he leaned out the window, retching up more of the weird black he knew was old blood.

Something inside him was bleeding, had been for a while if this was any indication, and he wondered how long he had before it turned red.

If it had been just that, he might have had hope, might have thought he stood a chance. Even with the fever, the headache, bones that felt like broken glass, he might have still held out.

He smiled a little at the absurdity of it. The little hole in his chest, covered earlier with nothing but a band aid, that was what was going to kill him. 

His fingers brushed his chest, barely touching, pain bringing fresh tears to his eyes. It hurt a lot, now. Pretty soon just the pressure of his shirt would be too much. He wondered, absently, how he'd hide it from Connor, then. He'd looked at it in the bathroom mirror, found it a horror show. Angry, hugely swollen, furious red streaking up into his neck, fiery hot, surrounding veins rock hard, standing out against his skin in stark relief. He'd pressed one, gently, almost taken to his knees by a bolt of pain, a draining nightmare rainbow of blood streaked green and yellow. He'd thought, with a fainting sort of horror, that his veins must be full of that shit.

No hiding that, once the shirt came off.

If the situation had been anything other than it was, he'd never have hidden it, never have closed off the link, tying him to Connor, never have accepted this as his fate.

With everything he'd learned, the last thing in the world he wanted was to die.

But to tell anyone just how sick he was would have been to divert the attention to him, and his plight. To take it from where it needed to be.

Sighing, bitter inside at the evil men were still and always so willing to perpetrate on each other, he tried to make some kind of peace with his decision, not one of exhaustion, or psychosis or desperation. Not one based on trauma, or hopelessness, not this time.

This, the product of innate decency.

No matter the cost, even though it would be his life, he would never allow himself to take part in the bartering of a child, would never let a child be ransom.

Bodhi, Maura and Mark were all being held hostage, the price of their whereabouts the location of Maura's child. Medications that could have...would have...saved him also held at the same, too high, price, if only because to request them would be to tempt his friends to give in, to give up the little boy.

Maura's child. His child. As if it mattered whose child it was.

Children weren't currency and he'd never let one buy him his life.

And so he'd minimized how sick he was, let the arguments continue, let the pack of friends and foes in his living room continue to fight it out in interminable stalemate...until he'd known he was minutes away from vomiting and had so very gently disengaged from Connor, had gone, not into the bathroom where he'd be heard, but out here, where he could see the sun, and leave them to make it right without being distracted by him...and they would make it right, he already knew.

Too much information had already been given up and everything being used against them was about to fall apart.

They were already there.

As he watched the last of the light fade into darkness, the darkness then displaced by the lights of the city, he felt an unexpected stab of hope.  
They really were SO close. Maybe, if they hurried, there would be time for him, too.

Shivering a little, from the cooler night air or the fever, he didn't know, he lit a cigarette, watched the city lights through the smoke, and let his thoughts drift back over the last few hours.


	30. Chapter 30

"I don't know, Connor."

Donovan sat back, sighing, frustrated. "I've honest to god never seen anything like it. It's coding way beyond what I know anything about."

"Oh, just give it to me!"

Terry, sick of trying to make anything out over Donovan’s shoulder, grabbed the laptop and stalked away, disappearing into Murphy's bedroom with a curt "tell them".

"Tell us what, then?"

"You really should wait to confront all these people, Connor."

"Wait for what?"

"Till he's feeling better. Murphy how much good are you like this?"

"Plenty. I feel like shit, but I'm functional. People are MISSING. That can't wait. It shouldn't have waited this long!"

Donovan, deeply disturbed at what the twins suspected, more than open to the possibility that they were right, and that one of his brothers was responsible, could only nod, dejectedly, in agreement.

Murphy had been right...the last face to face conversation he'd had with Maura had been at least a month before the twins had come in, though he'd known she was in the house, her comings and goings comfortably normal on his monitors...or at least he'd thought he'd known. How real had those images been?

Bodhi he hadn't had any face time with for months. They worked opposite schedules, communicated via email, phone, text...didn't live in each other’s lives.

And Logan...

Unlike the twins, he and his brothers weren't close, something that impressed Murphy as alien and weird.

His explanation; "We just didn't have that kind of life, Murph," had brought only a derisive snort.

"They're your brothers."

Well, it looked an awful lot like one of his brothers had snatched and stashed the other, and was clearly up to no good. Ashamed of his very bloodline, he looked miserably into Murphy's face.

"It was Logan hacking the system. I should have realized...he has every code, every password....and once you mentioned him I could see him all over it...but he just wasn't on my radar. He should have been. It's my job to know who knows about us. But I never even thought of him, and it's never, NEVER occurred to me that he'd ever DO anything to us. He didn't want to be here, but he had no fight with any of us."

He went abruptly silent and they could almost SEE how knotted his mind was, knew how abnormal that was for him, and kept quiet, waiting.

"It's...we...we're more divided than you think. The united front...hacker nation right? It's not real. Terry's been telling us for weeks and weeks that something's happened to Maura. He SAID she didn't sound right. He all but rubbed our noses in the proof! We blew him off. He's young, sweet, naive...so excited to be helping the two of you, Collin just figured he was seeing conspiracy and scheming around every corner. Collin...he wasn't sure he even wanted you here. It didn't matter to him that Maura created it specifically so the two of you could get off the street...he was scared. We already have Jordan to deal with, and what we'd heard...he was afraid you'd be just as dangerous to us as the guys out there were to you. And you've proven him right more than once."  
His eyes turned to Collin, hunched over Murphy's laptop, scowling in concentration.

"He fell a little bit in love with Connor...lucky break for both of you, because after your little gun moment he was with Ira on wanting you out. He changed his mind, but there was a lot of hostility for a while. I think seeing what the two of you struggle with, just as people, every day is what swung him around. His...innate compassion won out."

Murphy laughed a little, noting what Don had conspicuously left out. "And Conn got him off, hardcore. I'd guess that helped a little."

"I guess it didn't hurt. Whatever the reason, he's yours now, both of you, body and soul."

He drifted again, lost in his mind, and Murphy, knowing he was editing whatever came next, reached out, took hold of the back of his neck, gently to be sure, but the threat was clear.

"Donny...don't pick what to leave out. You leave out NOTHING. Am I clear?"

Donovan brushed his hand away, real pain on his face.

"I don't leave things out to inconvenience you! I don't want to hurt you, can't you get that?"

"Doesn't matter. The day Conn brought me down, there was something you wanted from us. When he told you I'd killed my saint, hope lit up in your eyes like it was Christmas. All of you. Like that was exactly what you wanted to hear and everything would be ok because of it. You never told us what that was about, and I know it's important. You told us you'd lost track of Bodhi and Maura, but...."

"That wasn't all of it, you're right. Christ Murphy, I really don't want to have this on me."

"I really don't want to fight anyone tonight, either! I want to go to sleep, I want to not feel like I'm gonna drop dead any second, I want this place to be what Bodhi promised it was, but too fuckin bad for me! Fuck what you don't want to tell me, we can't HELP YOU if we don't KNOW."

"I just don't want to give you any more pain, Murphy!"

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't matter. Tell me the rest, and do it quick, we don't have a lot of time."

Seeing the grief on Donovan's face...and grief was the only word for it. Mind numbing, heartbreaking, soul ripping grief...he eased his tone, touched his neck again, this time entirely to comfort. "Donny...whatever it is, it'll be ok. If it hurts me, I'll get over it."

Something nudged his mind, then, coming from Donovan...he'd never caught anything from anyone other than Connor, not like this, and for a moment it took his breath away... unmistakably loving, unexpectedly lovely, and he knew.

"Donny, if it hurts me, and you need to help me, I'll let you. But I need you to tell me. I wasn't kidding. Time..."

Time. Sweeping by, dark and deadly. Caught in it, all of them, and he could feel how close they were to some horrid collision.

"Donny. Now."

"Fine. Fine! We were glad when you told us you'd killed your saint because, one, we thought it would save YOU, you wouldn't end up like Jordan, and that it would mean you could stay. I'd have NEVER made you leave, but I was about to be overridden by popular opinion...there's a story you should read. It's called Hitler Painted Roses...."

"Pull it together, Donny."

Connor’s voice was still mild, but the stress was starting to show.

"Yeah. Yeah. I knew I could... override the override if your saint was really gone. And we knew that if you'd really done it...then we wouldn't have to move Matty. Maura wouldn't have to take him and run and never tell you that he existed. That was what we were gonna tell her to do, Murphy. US. YOUR FRIENDS! Because we'll protect you with our lives if we have to, but protecting that little boy is even more important than protecting you. He's our family, we've known him since his first day. If you'd truly gone insane, and had reached the point that you'd start attacking friends, we weren't willing to chance...except Terry, of course. He never agreed. He's yours to his bones."

Murphy, nobody’s fool, had heard the abrupt cutoff, noted the change in direction, turned it back.

"Weren't willing to chance what, Donovan."

"Ever letting him near either one of you. We were afraid, since it's clearly in your paternal bloodline, that contact with it in you might trigger it in him. And you'd lost your mind. We were thinking about what it might do to him…thinking Logan might have been right."

He ran out of breath, had to stop, forced himself to look at Murphy. Surprised and, not a little suspicious, he saw only interest and intense curiosity on his face. None of the pain, rage...hate...he'd expected. That he didn't trust it was massively understated.


	31. Chapter 31

Murphy, who'd understood the gist of it, but not much else, had slipped himself into Saints mode as soon as he'd heard Donovan confirm his relation to Maura's son, effectively shutting out any extraneous...distracting...emotion. He'd worry about that later. Right now he had to get Don making sense, and he had to do it fast, knew Donovan's intense fear of hurting him would keep him too emotional and chaotic to gain the perspective he needed. It would need to be Connor.

He'd barely finished the thought when he felt, more than saw, Connor materialize next to him. Connected and clear, they had this.

Connor, careful to keep his tone, and his face, as easy as possible, pinned Donovan's gaze with his own, grasped his neck as Murphy had, comfort and control in his hand.

"Donovan, brother, I think you'd better start at the beginning and say it quick. Company's coming. Tell me now. All of it. From the beginning. Don't worry about Murphy, he’s fine. Come on, start at the start."

Donovan, caught in his eyes, had one random, involuntary thought...'damn if he's not hypnotizing me' before the sheer force of the twins combined will took him over.

"When Maura told us she was going to try to bring you in, there were a lot of people who just...."

"Freaked out."

Collins voice broke in from across the room.  
"Not because bad guys might come with, but because you might be worse. Jordan had everyone convinced you were rabid psycho killers, likely to kill us all, and that you couldn't go anywhere near Matty, that proximity would be too dangerous to him. He also said the two of you would never come in unless one of you was dead, dying, or insane. Maura told him to fuck off. He was right about that part."

"What does any of this have to do with now?"

"Logan. When we started it was him, Bodhi, me and Maura. He designed this whole system. He had different motives, though. Hers were for you. His were for Matty. She hadn't had him yet when we met her...Logan loved him like his own from day one. When Maura said she wanted to bring you in he was all for it till Jordan started talking. He got scared, Murphy, really scared. He tried to convince Maura to let him take him out of here, if she was determined to stay, and she was. She wouldn't let him. He had nothing against the two of you, he just didn't want anything to happen...that's why he left. He said he wasn't about to sit around and watch Matthew be ruined. She tried to tell him Jordan was crazy, that it wasn't some contagion...but he left. This...all this, I don't think it's about you at all."

"No, he wants to get the kid out."

"Connor...I think...but why TAKE people?"

“If he's been here and has access to security why hasn't he just taken him, if that's what he wants?"

"I don't know."

"What about Ira?"

"I have NO idea about Ira."

"She especially attached to either one of them?"

"Matty, yeah. She delivered him. She takes care of him when Maura’s gone, if she doesn't take him with her. But she wouldn't hurt anyone."

"No? I look well to you?"

"No, you don't. And I don't know why she'd have done this."

"If she thinks she's protecting him...get me out of the way the kid's safe from being tainted by me, right? Total bullshit y'know, even if such a thing existed. We never met our father till after this already started. We didn't need him to kick start anything. It's not a disease for Christ’s sake, it's a choice."

"Is it? Are you sure? Murphy, something's keeping you alive, Connor too judging by what he's told me. You two survive when it's completely impossible. And the connection you have....it's not a twin thing. You two aren't even twins in the strictest sense of the word, since fraternal twins are almost never conceived at exactly the same time. They're an accident...a glitch in the system. I googled it after talking with Jordan. Two eggs get fertilized, not at the same time, it's almost statistically impossible, and they both somehow make it through before the door slams shut. All fraternal twins do is share a room during gestation. They're no closer than regular siblings, they don't do that twin thing identicals do...them... they're literally one person, split in two. You guys? You're just brothers. That connection is something different. How do you know it can't reach your son the same way it reaches your brother?"

"Even if it could it wouldn't hurt him."

"I know that. But it's real, whatever it is."

He hesitated for a moment, verging on afraid to ask, reminded himself that the twins were not only good men, but also his friends.

"Going on the assumption that you're dealing with people who are trying to PROTECT someone...what're you gonna do with them?"

"Well, Donovan, I don't know. If you're worried about us killing your brother I'd like to offer the suggestion that you take a look at mine before you go all over judgey, there. And we'll see, won't we, what we're really up against before we decide that."


	32. Chapter 32

He was growing more worried about Murphy by the second, the brother in him ready to call a halt to this whole thing.

Let them confront this problem, these people, another day.

A day when his brother...his twin and Donovan could just fuck off with his google science...wasn't radiating heat to anyone within a couple of feet of him, wasn't shaking with chills so hard his teeth chattered, wasn't feeling so bad that he was, however slowly, however subtly, however stealthily...in absolute futility regardless of his resolution, because Connor wasn't about to allow it...trying to disengage their linked minds, linked souls.

Connor, fondly exasperated in spite of his worry, had to wonder what could possibly make Murphy think he'd get away with that little stunt again, now that Connor knew what it meant.

Die alone? Hell, die at all?

Not a chance, not while he still drew breath. He wouldn't let him let himself die.

At least, he wouldn't if he were allowed to intervene.

The brother in him screamed, inchoate and senseless, to save him and who cared who had to be sacrificed in the process.

That other part of him, whoever or whatever had stayed his hand when he'd intended to end Murphy’s suffering all those many weeks ago, that had always stayed his hand...their hands...when they'd had the wrong people in their sights, that part, in control now, wouldn't let him take this ball out of play.

Worry all you want, it seemed to say, hold the link if it pleases you to do so, but don't for one second think you'll be allowed to let these people down, not after everything they've done for you. Not when one of your blood is a target. Not when people who trust you are counting on you.

He suspected Murphy was in the same, sinking, boat, trying as frantically to bail as he was, his efforts just as fruitless.

Murphy wasn't any more able to change the course of these events than he was.

And so, they would play it out...but Murphy was out of his mind if he thought he was hiding anything.

Resolving himself, at least for now, to saying nothing, he pulled out their guns, handed Murphy his and dropped down next to him, his own exhaustion trying to take hold, rested his head on his brothers shoulder, felt his hand reach up and tangle in his hair. At the very least, they still had this.

Murphy's voice came in rhythm with the hand stroking Connor’s hair, mindlessly soothing even where its content fired all of his discomfort.

"What ARE we gonna do, Conn, if they're good people?"

"Good people don't take hostages, brother."

He felt him nod.

"I know, but we don't yet know they have. And there's a difference between evil, and conviction. We should know, shouldn't we? It's always been our only defense."

"There's a difference between the courage of your convictions, and terrorism, Murph."

"Not much."

"No, not much. You're not saying anything about this boy, brother. Nor feeling anything."

"It's naught to do with this."

"No, it's to do with you."

"I can't, Connor. Not if I want to stay on this side of the line. What would I do to them if I let it in?"

"The same thing you'd do if it was any child."

"Yeah, well...I'm not so sure. Let me leave that alone, for now, Conn."

Connor pushed himself, pulled Murphy, in a little closer, settled them both, let the matter drop. For now, Murphy was right. It would only hurt, needlessly, and dissolve any objectivity his brother was still managing to hold on to. God knew, it had to be hard enough all on its own, even without the added complications of people and their ever rampant insane evil.

Alone, in their home full of friends, they waited together.

The knock at the door seemed to take forever to arrive, came altogether too soon. Anticipation and dread, equally measured.

They let Donovan answer it, and why not? It was his blood on the other side.

Watched them talk, too low to hear, Elena, Donovan, Ira, and a boy who could only be Logan, not by process of elimination but by his unmistakable resemblance to Bodhi.

Just as slight, just as pretty, though painfully hard eyed, particularly given how young he seemed.  
Missing the scars, of course, and the expression of peaceful calm that seemed the permanent cast of Bodhi’s features.

This boy, far from peaceful, shot a glare in their direction utterly filled with loathing, as if they were some pestilence... noisome invaders he'd been unable to exterminate.

It crossed Connor’s mind that that was precisely what they were, and felt the little wave of empathy, from Murphy, flavored faintly with guilt.

It had been Logan's home and they'd essentially driven him out of it.

Until they knew, with certainty, that this boy had hurt anyone, they'd keep that at the top of their minds.

And then, of course, there was Ira.

Ira...beloved and trusted...she was the one it hurt to look at. 

Never suspected, loved as they'd loved so many others...had she turned on them? Of course she wouldn't have...if she'd been part of this it had been since before they'd ever arrived. Turned on them? No. Massively deceived them? Maybe. Granted, it was hard to do, but by no means impossible. They were, after all, only men. Only people. They could be fooled.

They both sat up, leaned forward, hands on guns, completely synchronized.

Looking at each other, both smiling a little at how GOOD it felt to sync up this way, as if it were how they were always meant to be, they exchanged nods....the silent fluidity of the exchange unnerving to everyone in the room...and Murphy sat back.

It would be Connor they'd be dealing with, albeit only on a verbal level.

Though appearances might suggest Murphy was sitting this one out, the brothers knew better.

Barely sparing a glance at Ira, Connor looked to Logan, not bothering with any attempt at false brevity, even at basic pleasantries.

"You're Logan?"

The boys nod was curt.

"I'm Logan, and I know who you are. We can skip the polite introductions. I hoped I'd never have to meet you, and I'm only here because Elena said you needed to see me. What is it you need?"

His voice, eerily like Bodhi’s, set their suspicions in stone.

Connor, thinking of all he wanted to know...why had he taken over the security systems? Why had he impersonated Bodhi? Why had they done this to Murphy?...slotting relevancies in his head, settled for need to know, instead.

"We need to know where our friends are."

"What friends?"

"Bodhi and Maura."

"And Mark."

Donovan’s soft interjection, loaded as it was with baffled disapproval, caused a flicker in his brother’s eyes as they turned to him. Close to unreadable, it might have been regret.

"Mark's fine, Donny. They all are"

He turned his gaze back to Connor.

"I didn't realize you'd had time to make friends with them. They're fine. I wouldn't hurt them, I'm not like you. I can't tell you where they are, and none of this is any of your business anyway. This is between us."

His gesture took in Donovan, Collin and Ira.

Connor’s eyebrows went up at that, and he found himself stifling a laugh. None of their business?

"How is that, then?"

"It's got nothing to do with..."

His words sputtered out as Murphy, until now silent and unmoving, a pale blur in the shadowed corner of the sofa, pulled himself to his feet, holding on to Connor for a second to catch his balance.

"I'll tell you what it has to do with us."

He was suddenly at Logan's side, moving faster than even Connor had thought him capable, both hands locked onto the sides of the boys head, faces barely an inch apart.

“Your brother brought us here, promised us safety. And then you took him. That makes it our business. Your other brother, and his friend, promised us full disclosure and honesty. They lied. Even so, when they asked for our help, we gave it. Are giving it now. Also our business. A very old friend of mine promised everyone but me she'd stay if I came...and she's gone because you took her. Very much my business. The little boy I'm told you're looking for is her son, which would already make him my business, but I'm told he's also MY son, which makes him my blood. That makes it my business, and if it's mine, it's my brothers, and we absolutely tend to our business. Is it clear to you now?"

His hands, gripping the boys hair, slid away...the same freakishly fluid rapidity he'd displayed earlier, one hand locking around Logan's wrist, the other pressed to his chest, fingers moving, almost imperceptibly, with his heartbeat, starting to pull away a moment later, brought up short in utter amazement when Logan's hand rose and slipped around his.

"Wait."

Murphy letting the hand grasping his remain, turned to Connor, eyes distant and strangely vacant, his tone completely neutral.

"Conn, you see how it is."

"I do, brother."

Murphy heard Connor’s gun being cocked, saw Ira tense in his periphery, as if to run, spoke without looking at her.

"I'd not suggest you test my brother’s restraint. You stand still."

His eyes flicked to Logan's hand, still locked with his.

“What do you want, Logan?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Oh. Ask your friend Ira, this is her work. I think you'd better sit down and tell us what you've been doing, and why. And...YOU..."

He spat the word at her, eyes still averted. Just the thought of looking at her made him sick.

"I don't know how you fooled us, or why you wanted to do this to me..."

She broke in, managing to sound concerned, ludicrous given the situation.

"I never tried to fool you, and I never meant anything like this to happen. Whatever's making you sick, Murphy, it's not me."

The false sincerity, sticky and saccharin sweet, in her voice made Connor want to throw up.

"Sit. Both of you. Murphy?"

"I don't want to fucking touch her."

"I know, brother." He reached out for Murphy, linked hands.

"Together, then."


	33. Chapter 33

It didn't take a second, and Connor felt the beginnings of a headache, pulsing behind his eyes. No clear cut evil, here. No particular plan for their undoing. She'd honestly had nothing against them, had saved Murphy because she'd wanted him to live, had wanted them both to be safe.

There was a strange indifference there now....but what she was doing...it just didn't make sense.

"Ira...why then?"

Connor’s voice, no longer that of the saint, simply him, full of confused hurt. 

"Both of you...you're good people... Why are you doing this?"

It went on, feeling like hours, the same unending cycle of argument and rebuttal.

Ira, fully in support of the idea of helping the twins, also fully believing the raving of a crazy old man, that their proximity would irreparably damage Maura’s son.

Her only goal...to keep them apart, recruiting Logan, shamelessly, blatantly using his love and concern to her own ends, when Maura...who'd had every intention of being here when the twins arrived, and telling Murphy he had a son...had refused her.

Logan, taken in by Ira's sincerity, reacting with his own fear, had gone along with her heart and soul, and had never left the house, stashing himself away, presumably where their friends now were.  
He'd altered the computer systems months ago to disguise his activities, and Ira's.

Their only plan...first get the boy out, then make sure the twins were safe.

Murphy, listening to them explain, felt a stab of pride for Maura, who'd realized something was wrong in Ira and removed her son, hiding him with amazing thoroughness long before they'd arrived.

The only ones she'd told...her core family here. Bodhi, Donovan, Collin.

Logan, who'd made it clear he agreed with Ira, she'd avoided.

Unable to locate the child, with the twins’ arrival looming ever closer, Ira had panicked...and if evil entered into it, here was its entry. Fear. Love.

Murphy, quickly reaching the end of his strength, thought to himself that more harm, more evil had been done as the result of those two feelings than any other reason. Fear, and love.

Randomly, drifting in from the same abstract space that had caused Donovan to mention Hitler Painted Roses, Murphy spoke up. "There's supposedly an inscription over the gate to hell. It says ‘love made me.’"

He sat back, tired of it all.

"We get it, ok? Maura wouldn't tell you where he was, so you took her and he manipulated communication so nobody would notice."

That someone HAD noticed, and that someone was busily uncovering their hidden information even now, he didn't mention.

"What did you think that would get you? Did you think she'd bargain? Her freedom for her son? Are you really that stupid? And when she didn't crack you took Bodhi? I guess that didn't work out for you either. Why Mark?"

Logan, completely ashamed of himself in the clear light of day, this new perspective guilt laden and painful, ignored Ira's warning glare and answered.

"He'd known I was still here. He knew something wasn't right and came to find me, to find out what was going on. He said the system was acting crazy, doing weird things, showing weird displays. He didn't know what I was doing."

He laughed, bitter, no humor in it.

"It wasn't me doing it. It was Bodhi. I'd disabled his access but he was using someone else's. He shut it down before I could get it. One of yours, probably. You, Connor, right? Had to be. Murphy was still in the hospital. I didn't know you had it. She'd thought meeting these guys would just keep you occupied...and seal your trust in her. We didn't think you'd JOIN them. Whatever, Ira wouldn't let him leave."

"So now you're deliberately making Murphy sick..."

"I didn't make him sick, are you crazy?"

"Not you. Ira."

Clearly news to Logan, his confusion utterly unfeigned, he looked to her, expecting denial, instead receiving only an unconcerned shrug.

"I didn't make him sick, I just stretched out his recovery time. He knew something wasn't right and he wouldn't let it go. I had to keep him out of it so I did things more slowly, that's all. Nothing dangerous, nothing that would hurt him."

"He looks pretty hurt to me, Ira."

"Whatever's wrong with him now isn't my doing. Nobody told him to get up and go running around the complex like a fool."

Connor, close to maximum bullshit tolerance, interrupted them.

"Logan...making Murphy sick. Kidnapping people, holding them hostage...and that doesn't seem wrong to you?"

"It didn't! It does now! I wouldn't hurt anybody, and if I'd known she was I never would have helped her."

"Sucks when your people stab you in the back, doesn't it...so tell us where they are and let us end this before anybody else gets hurt."

"Don't do it."

Ira’s voice was cold.

"It's our only leverage. We'll tell them where their friends are when they tell us where Matty is."

And so, the tipping point, fulcrum finally swinging into territory they understood. Here, then, was evil.

Murphy's voice, full of disgust, the voice of the saint, hit them full power.

"You'd hold people hostage with the ransom being a CHILD?!"

"Your child."

"It doesn't matter whose child! We don't barter children! We WON'T! Children aren't currency!"

His gaze turned on Donovan and Collin.

"Neither of you is to speak a word, do you understand me? The first that even thinks to tell them is the first to feel a bullet. If any of you have ever wondered how we define evil, here it is."

The tone of disregard in Ira’s response, completely dismissive, tempted him to shoot her on the spot, just to shut her up.

"They won't shoot any of us. You're their friends and we're the only ones who know where their other friends are. Boys...it looks like we've reached a standoff. Shoot your ideals at me all you want, it won't change anything."

For Murphy, it abruptly stopped being about good and evil, mutating into something infinitely beyond hate... black and cold, clawing in from some untapped primitive region of his soul...intensely personal.

"You have no idea how much I wish I'd shot you when I had the chance."

And there, in a blink, the moment he might have...might have...crossed out of objective justice and into murder, his hand was staid, nausea as black as his hatred rising up, choking him.

Outwardly calm, the province of his saint, he handed Connor his gun, whispered something in his ear, much too faintly for anyone else to hear, beckoned Logan over...distantly surprised that he came...whispered something much more lengthy and clearly overheard by Collin, then quietly left the room, closing off...or thinking he'd done, at any rate...the link to Connor as he went.

He'd been sitting, here in the window, ever since, letting the sounds of the argument down the hall wash over him as it grew louder, finding it in him to laugh, more than once, at how skilled his brother could be at making people look stupid.

Connor was good, there was no denying it.

His comment that their thinking had passed beyond warped and into vapid idiocy if they believed contact with Murphy...Murphy! Of all people!...would suddenly saddle them with a six year old vigilante had pretty much won the day, in Murphy's opinion.

Asinine however you looked at it, Connor made it crystal.

Crazed appreciation for his brother, mixed with equally mad affection ran over him, little rills down his neck, up his back, making him smile. His whispered words to his brother as he left the room..."They forgot about Terry, stall them." had been the proverbial red flag to Connor’s bull, and he'd laid into them with a furious litany of point and counterpoint, scathing sarcastic opinion and cold, unfettered logic, slaughtering every attempted argument, wringing confessions from them they weren't even aware they were making.

Damn good, his brother was. Damn good.

He felt a heavy, sludgy sleepiness stealing over him and fought it, too afraid he wouldn't wake up to give in, going over what he'd heard.

Wasn't Ira turning out to be one crazy bitch? They hadn't seen that one coming, not at all.  
It was a lot easier to fool them than they'd thought. They'd need to watch that, in the future.

She'd started out sounding overprotective and desperate, ended up sounding like a greedy fucking child thief. The only thing in her mind now was getting the kid come hell or high water, and who cared who she had to go through? Not her. Kidnap a kid’s mom to get her to hand him over? Crazy bitch.

Of Connor and him, she no longer held any regard.

Though she certainly hadn't entered into this with any intent to harm them, and had legitimately cared what happened to them, she really didn't care anymore.

In truth, while it couldn't be honestly said that she WANTED him to die, she didn't find the thought particularly upsetting.

Murphy...not realizing he was drifting off, even as he continued to ponder it... supposed he had himself to blame for at least some of that... threatening to shoot her had probably made her that much more willing to mess him up a little.

He'd have respected her more if she'd just said so. "Fucker, yeah! You pissed me off!"

All his running around had turned that little bit she'd done him into a whole lot and in truth she had to be sick of him. He would have been. Often was, honestly. Sick of himself. Nice.

They'd messed up her plan, too, or...someone had. Maura. Maura had. That had to have pissed her off. It had been a decent plan, too. He hated plans, they never worked out.

As consciousness left him, he was smiling.

He bet Connor would've loved that plan.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more gore than usual. It was that kind of day.

A thousand rock stars couldn't be wrong.

Murphy’s mind, a machine of great intricacy...or dementia, take your pick... even he couldn't always figure out, would, of course, react to the cold reality that he couldn't breathe, and hadn't been able to for quite a while, with morbid, macabre humor.

It figured.

While he had no real idea what was actually going on...he'd been flung back into consciousness already in a panicked, desperate fight for air...his minds quick witted appraisal of his situation didn't hold much weight with him. It had to be pretty hard to strangle on your own vomit when you hadn't eaten in months. Logic.

Logic didn't change the facts, though, and the facts were...his mind stubbornly insisting on cataloging them... there was something blocking his throat. It felt like a cat.

Something solid.

Something big.

Something big he couldn't swallow, couldn't bring up, though his body felt like it was ripping itself to pieces to attempt exactly that and getting absolutely nowhere... couldn't spit out. 

It seemed wrong, to the twisted gallows humor his brain seemed to insist on as his vision began to dim, to be yanked out of a perfectly peaceful final coma just to strangle on what he couldn't stop picturing as a cat, for a few minutes before dying. 

He was put out.

This whole thing was entirely unnecessary.

"Murphy, why do I always find you like this?"

The voice seemed to come from someplace infinitely distant, and he only vaguely felt himself being hauled upright to a stream of muttered cursed, faint pain that should have been sharp as someone grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, mumbled a plea somehow ringing clear..."please don't bite me"...and reached down his throat.

Instinct made him panic, panic made him fight, adrenaline fueled consciousness winging back as he tried to get away from whatever had him by the hair, biting down, hard, on whatever was jammed into his mouth.

Whatever it was spat a string of curses and pushed in hard, so hard it seemed his jaw would crack, instead merely giving way, allowing whatever it was to yank itself out, bringing the cat with it.

Blazing sarcasm in his head, scathing commentary on his instinct to fight so hard to be left alone to die.

Nothing he did really ever had made much sense.

The thought, stuck in a groove, played on repeat...a mantra as useless as it was insane…and even though the cat was gone he still couldn't breathe because now he WAS vomiting.

Perfect. How do you get into these things MacManus, do you try?

Well, it was better than nothing he did making sense.

He was losing his mind and every broken off piece of it was fussing at him, laughing at him, scolding him, refusing to just let him expire in peace.

Some type of psychotic coping, he supposed.

He wished it would fuck off, whatever it was.

This mental hassle was lasting an awfully long time...during which he realized he was breathing again, took a few more seconds to regain real awareness beyond the chaotic chatter of his mind.

He was alive, breathing, and someone was with him, holding him up. Beyond that, he had no idea what was going on.

"What..."

His mouth filled with hot liquid, copper bright, and he spat it out, knew without looking that it was blood.

"What just happened?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. I came in to tell you I found them, and it looked like you were choking to death. There's a whole lotta blood."

"Terry."

"Yeah."

"I couldn't breathe." He spat another mouthful of blood, wondered where it was coming from, found not much interest in the answer. Bizarre humor was giving way to indifferent avoidance and he realized, suddenly and completely, just how scared he was.

"I couldn't breathe AT ALL"

"I know."

"What'd you do? It felt like there was a cat in my throat."

"A cat, Murphy?"

"I'm losing my mind. You should have heard the things it was saying to me."

"Well it WASN'T a cat. And I went in after it. You almost bit my fingers off, you ingrate."

He held them out, displaying the torn, deep crescents of teeth.

"Jesus...Christ Terry, I'm sorry. What was it?"

"Whole lotta blood, I told you."

"No, it..."

"Old blood. Mostly clotted. DON'T you dare gross out. If I didn't, you can't. Come on, let's go. You gotta go back to the hospital."

"No, Terry..."

"Murphy. It's ok. You slept through most everything. I found them. I texted the others. Elena's gone to get Bodhi and them. Connor’s got it handled with Ira. I told him I'd get you. Now come on, it looks like a Fulci splatter film in here."

"That didn't much help."

"No, I guess not. Come on."

He pulled him upright, gave him a minute to ride the ensuing faintness, watching for his eyes to clear.

"Murphy, you with me, still?"

"Think so..."

"Hang onto me, ok?"

"How far..."

He was cut off, gagging a little on more blood, spat it out.

"How far do we have to go?"

"About twelve steps. Please stop talking and just come on."

"What time is it?"

"For Christ sake, Murphy! Little after eight."

"That's all? It's only been a couple hours?"

"Yeah."

"Am I dreaming?"

Terry, examining his shredded fingers, held them out again as evidence. "Pretty realistic dream if you are."

"Wait then. I don't think we can go out there yet. It hasn't been long enough."

"Long enough for what? Murphy, you're bleeding. We can't wait around."

"Long enough...I don't know. None of this feels right. Why can't I hear them talking? I've been hearing them talk all night"

"Murphy...you want me to get Connor for you? He's not six steps away."

"He's right there?"

"Right there, I promise."

"Are you lying?""

"Yeah, Murphy, I'm lying."

"No you're not."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"This isn't over yet."

If they hadn't stepped through the door looking every bit as Lucio Fulci as Terry had said, Murphy might have been wrong.  
It might well have been over.

Things had wound down with no bloodshed, no fight.

Not an hour after Murphy had left the room...and they would all be shocked to find just how little time had passed. It had felt like days to all of them...Terry had broken through Logan's blocks, found his hiding place, and immediately turned on everyone’s phones, texting them the intel, and they'd scattered.

Logan, Elena and Donovan to go let the captives out, stopped in the doorway by Connor's voice, ill-tempered and snappish.

"Logan! We're to trust you? Why didn't you just tell us where they were!"

Collin broke in with the answer.

"Murphy told him not to. Let them go unlock our friends, I'll tell you."

He'd hesitated a moment, having forgotten Murphy's whispered instructions to Logan, finally nodding them approval and they'd disappeared out the door.

Collin, eyeing Ira with undisguised hatred, said nothing for a moment, straining Connor’s already nonexistent patience.

"Collin, what'd he say?"

"He told him not to tell you where they were, no matter what you said. That it wasn't time yet."

"Murphy and this fucking time thing. Where the fuck is he..."

It was then that he realized he'd dropped the link, or more accurately allowed his brother to pull it from him, started to panic...and felt Collins hand on his neck, pushing gently.

"It's ok, Terry's with him, they'll be out in a second. He already called the med team, they'll be here any minute now. He's not doin so great, but he's up and talking. I'm gonna go check on Matty, if you're ok with her."

He'd nodded assent, and Collin was gone.

Ira, completely irrational in her obsessive need to find the boy...not truly evil, nobody Connor would kill, just unbalanced, taken over, horribly WRONG, had seen the last of her leverage fall away and given up, falling into a kitchen chair with a sigh.

"Fine, Connor. Fine. You all win, but when that little boy goes insane..."

Connor, dropping into the chair across from her, his gun never wavering for an instant despite her seeming surrender, had found himself feeling sorry for her.

Her worry, deluded, misguided and insane, was still very real.

"He won't, Ira. We won't hurt him. Do you really think if there was ANY chance of that Murphy would let it happen? He wouldn't go anywhere near him! How can you not KNOW that?"

"Well, forgive me, Connor, but I haven't seen much evidence that your brother is anything but a selfish ass."

"Murphy, selfish? You really HAVE lost your mind."

 

It really might have been over, then, Murphy's dark prediction dismissed as the product of exhaustion, blood loss, shock.

As it was, he was altogether too right.

Connor, eyes and gun trained on Ira...despite his pity for her, there wasn't much he wouldn't put past her, heard them come in, turned to look, saw a horror show gore fest, and went, for a short but deeply consequential bit of time, quite insane.

His perceptions pinpointed, vision only flashing images.

Murphy, standing only through Terry’s determined and heroic effort to hold him up.

Blood dripping...streaming from Terrys hand.

Blood running from his brother’s mouth.

The sound of Murphy's labored breathing rattling through the blood in his throat.

Both of them, covered in it.

He took it in, eerily calm, and the force...whatever it was, being conscience, disease, god...that always took control in moments like these, that prevented either of them from acting on violent emotion, stood no chance against this.

He gazed at his brother, shoved that controlling force into oblivion, and turned to Ira...no saint, now, only Connor, viciously angry, not a bit sane.

"Did you do this?"

He was on her before she saw him move, gun pressed into her face.

"Did you do this!"

He screamed the words into her face, glanced back, at the sound of his brother hitting the floor, and pinned his eyes on her again, not even Connor in them now, nothing left but gibbering lunatic glee, and she realized, in the split second she had left to live, that he'd finally...finally... been pushed too far...too long...too hard.

It had taken years, but here it was, right in front of her.

He waited only the fraction of a moment it took for him to see that understanding come into her eyes, and fired the gun into her face.


	35. Chapter 35

For Murphy, the day’s end was quick, easy, and painless...a moment of fleeting dizziness and everything...everything...was gone.

Already unconscious before Terry’s startled, involuntary jump back let him fall, he never even saw Connor. Never felt himself hit the floor, never heard the gunshot. 

Of the two of them he got off easy.

 

Connor, not yet sane, gazed impassively down at the wreckage at his feet that had once been a person, feeling nothing.

The wild, terror fueled rage had drained out, left him numb, cold, vaguely sad, some strange forgotten music playing behind his mind, lyrical weirdness he didn't understand replacing his thoughts.

Maybe they simply weren't his thoughts.

Willing to accept that, he turned to look for Murphy, flashed on his stillness, all the blood, and felt the terror break back in, thinking in that one horrific instant that he'd shot him.

Frozen numbness began to flood his veins, heralding the abyss, and for the first time he welcomed it.

"Connor!"

His name came out of nowhere, pulled him back...though he wasn't yet really 'him', wasn't really anyone, no longer cared to be... and his gun came up, seemingly of its own accord, finger squeezing the trigger, aiming for the voice, eyes finding Terry, covered in his brothers blood.

Too undone to think, everything a threat, he was seconds away from another shot, when Terry not so much stepped as hurtled into his space, and hands, cold, wet, sticky and shaking, grasped his face, completely ignoring the gun in his hand.

"Connor, it's me, it's Terry, I need you to help me, Connor, we need to get you and Murphy out of here."

His voice was rushed, nearly frantic, matching his panicky grip on Connor’s face, and in combination with the few words he'd processed....need...help...Murphy...that urgency began to break through Connor’s shocked, horrified numbness.

It was with intense relief that Terry saw his eyes start to clear.

He'd had no idea if he'd survive any kind of contact with Connor in this state, but he had to get him out before there were witnesses, and knew with certainty he had no time to go carefully, or try to talk him down.

"Conn, we have minutes, at most. There's a med team on the way to pick up Murphy. They CANNOT come in here, do you understand? THEY CAN'T SEE THAT!"

He nodded toward Ira, stilling Connor’s head as he turned to look, afraid it would lock him up.

"No no no don't look at that, don't look at that, look at Murphy. We have to get him out of here before they get here and I can't pick him up. You need to help me."

Connor, not fully processing, still fighting to push back the freezing numbness creeping over him, didn’t move, not even toward Murphy, and Terry felt himself close to panic.

He wasn't even sure how the people directly involved...who knew Connor, knew the whole mess... would handle this, but he knew the med team would go ballistic. It would be the end for the twins, that was a certainty.

"Connor!"

He shook him, felt the gun come up again, ignored it.

"If they see that you killed one of us it's over! I don't know what they'll do to you, but I know they won't help Murphy and he could die, Connor! Come on, we need you here!"

He saw the fog clear, completely, saw Connor come back into his own mind and stepped back, letting him go.

"Can you pick him up? I can't, he's bigger than me. We just gotta get him into the hall and lock this fucking door."

Connor, abruptly thrown into an entirely new nightmare...the awareness that his actions might end his brother...didn't bother to answer. He slid the gun into his jeans, grabbed the keys from the counter and flung them at Terry, hesitating only a moment when he got to Murphy.

"Terry, you're sure he's alive?"

"No, I'm not. Get him out. We can check once there's a locked door between you and...that."

It was all the impetus he needed, though he came perilously close to losing all cohesion when he picked his brother up. Loose, limp and cold in his arms, seemingly boneless, no breath of 'Murphy' anywhere around him, a frozen spike of terror stabbed through Connor’s soul. Already dead, he had to be.

Terry saw him start to lock up, sudden unexpected fury boiling over in him. Without thought his fist flashed out, caught Connor in the head...hard.

"Connor! For fuck sake, MOVE!" 

The knock in the head, hard enough to snap his teeth into his tongue...exquisite pain...broke him free and in seconds he was out the door.

He made it only a few steps before it all caught him...an untenable combination of exhaustion, rage, heartbreak, hatred, terror, grief and guilt. Blind, seizing horror took him down.

Terry, a locked door finally between them and the unthinkable, finally taking a second to breathe, saw him start to go down, only partially caught him, the combined weight of the two of them too much. The best he could do was let them down easy, thinking it would be better this way. Let the med team take them both, no questions.

He reached toward Murphy, intending to check for a pulse, stopped abruptly by Connor’s hand locking around his wrist...immovable it may as well have been steel.  
Still conscious, then, only too done in to stand.

"Don't touch him, Terry."

"I only..."

"He's alive. He's breathing. Just...don't touch him."

Terry nodded, glanced down at a ding from his phone, turned back to Connor, forcing eye contact Connor seemed desperate to avoid.

"Look at me, Connor, quick.

They're coming to take Murphy, They're only a couple of minutes away, are you clear on that? YOU HAVE TO LET THEM TAKE HIM. You understand?"

"I'm not stupid, Terry."

"I know that, but you're a long way from alright and I need to know you're clear."

"I'm clear."

"Are you going with Murphy or are you staying to help deal with this mess, here?"

Connor, who hadn't thought that question could possibly exist, looked up in amazement, ready to say that of course he was going with Murphy... and saw the panicky helplessness in Terry’s eyes, felt it trigger an entirely unwanted, painfully familiar tingle in his blood.

It still just wasn't in him to say no to such obvious need.

"What do you need me to do, Terry?"

"Most of the others are holding down the hall at either end. People heard the gun. Once Murphy's taken care of they'll be meeting me here and all kinds of other people will be everywhere. I think...we'll need all the help we can get."

"If he's...Terry, if he's dying I have to go with him. If I ask, will they tell me the truth?"

"Tell them they have to."

It hadn't been quite that simple.

While the team had been easily assured that all of the blood, all over everyone, belonged to Murphy and Terry, convincing them to do an assessment of his condition on the spot proved more difficult.

Alarmed by the blood, and Murphy's complete lack of consciousness, they wanted to take him and go, an entirely reasonable reaction that Connor’s agreed with wholeheartedly.  
Nonetheless, he wasn't getting out of their way until he knew just how much danger his brother was in, finally putting it to them in words too plain to argue with.

"You can waste his time arguing with me, or just do as I ask. I need to know if I have to go with him, and I need to know now."

Grudgingly, given no choice, they agreed to do it his way, and after what seemed to Connor an interminably lengthy examination, one of the men pulled him aside, clearly uncomfortable giving a prognosis in either direction.

"Connor, in all honesty, it's hard to say. He seems pretty stable. His pressures a little low, but his heart rate's fine, he’s breathing fine. He's got a bitch of an infection, and he appears to have lost one hell of a lot of blood, but with GI bleeds it can be hard to tell. It can look like more when it's mixed with other things and splashed all over the place. I don't know why he was bleeding, or if he still is. I don't like his level of consciousness. I don't THINK he's in immediate danger of death, provided you ever let us take care of him, but I can't make any promises. I'm sorry, I know that's not what you were looking for. If you DO want him to make it, though, you have to let us take him, now. What you do is up to you."

"No. It's not. Connor, give me your keys and go with Murphy."

Bodhi. Without a doubt, Bodhi, but not a Bodhi Connor had ever so much as laid eyes on. Gone, the peaceful, pretty little hippie kid. In his stead, the face of absolute, quiet, controlled authority, eyes reflecting a black anger that brooked no argument.

When nobody moved, his tone turned threatening.

"Give me your keys. Go. With. Murphy."

Connor, too tired to be angry, too guilty for indignation, already expecting to be tossed out, or worse, didn't argue.

Whatever it was, it was.

Sighing, entirely defeated, he nodded in Terrys direction.

"He has my keys."

"Fine."

Without another word, Bodhi unlocked their door and went inside with Terry.

As he started down the hall with Murphy he heard their door lock...bolted against them.


	36. Chapter 36

Terry, worried for the twins already, wasn't much impressed with Bodhi's harshness.

“Little rough on him, don't y'think?"

"No."

He looked down at the body on the floor.

"Ira...”

His sigh noncommittal, he looked back at Terry.

"I didn't know who I'd find. Until I got here I thought it was Murphy. Everyone was carrying on about gunshots and him being all bloodied up. Which one of them did it?"

"Connor."

"Was it temper, or justified?"

"Both."

"Both. Huh. I guess I can believe that. I've been ready to kill her myself..."

He sighed again, wishing his regret was for her death, rather than for his lack of it.

"I wish I could be sorry for her. What happened to Murphy?"

"She did."

"What'd she do?"

"Come on."

He started to lead him down the hall, stopping as he saw the unbridled horror on Bodhi’s face at the heavy blood trail.

"It gets a lot worse."

"How? He's still alive?"

"Yeah. I'm not trying to be funny. At all. But do you remember that real bad splatter movie with the teleporting zombies? The Fulci one?"

"Maybe..."

"When we go around the corner, you'll remember it. You liked it because you said Fulci gave great gore. He doesn't. You eat today?"

"Should I not have?"

"I keep wishing I hadn't. Go on and look, I really don't want to. And then you can call Connor and tell him he can have his keys back."

Bodhi’s low whistle floated back around the wall to him.

"Terry, what happened to him? What'd she do?"

He reappeared, pale, shaken.

"How could she do that? I know which movie you mean, the one where that girl spews out her whole intestinal tract. It did look like that. How is he alive?"

"Well, it's not what it looks like. None of that is his guts, it's all just blood."

"Just?"

"There's more on the fire escape"

"How can there be?"

"She messed him up somehow when she operated on him. Elena gets that stuff more than I do, she can probably explain. Ira...she did a lot of real shady medicine. It's not just that in there, he's got some real bad infection too. She said she wasn't trying to kill him."

"No, huh? Hate to see the results if she had. What happened to your hand?"

"Murphy bit me. He didn't mean to. He was choking on some of that...I kinda...hoiked it out. It was every bit as horrid as it sounds. I'm gonna need to get out of here, soon, Bodhi. I can't take a whole lot more blood, and now there's that out there..."

Reaction had begun to set in, and he felt himself shaking.

"I know we have to handle all this. I never even said hi to you. Ok, I might be unraveling a little bit."

"Terry..."

"DON'T be all sweet to me. Just don't be nice to me. I don't wanna cry. I hate to cry."

"Fine, I won't be nice to you."

"Where's everybody else?"

"Keeping the wolves at bay. Way too many people heard that shot. How did that come to happen?"

"He saw Murphy. They had all been arguing, fighting...I was in there trying to work out your code..."

"Took you long enough..."

"Shut up. When I told 'em where you were they all took off, it was just me and Ira....and Connor and Murphy. Seemed like it might be ok. Murphy was awake and talking, Connor and Ira were talking, you guys were found...and then Connor turned around and saw Murphy and he just...killed her. He didn't say anything, really. He yelled something at her...I didn't know he was gonna do it."

"Did he mean to?"

"Yeah. He didn't plan it or anything, but it wasn't an accident, if that's what you mean. He had the gun shoved right into her face."

"Before or after he saw Murphy?"

"After. I came out with him...Connor turned around...the look on his face, Bodhi....he jumped up and drove that gun right into her face. Then Murphy fell, he looked at him again and...killed her. For a minute I thought I was next. He looked so...so crazy and sad and...but I had to get him out, the medical team..."

"You watched him shoot someone you've known most of your life, point blank, in the face and you wanted to PROTECT him?"

"Well...yeah."

"Oh Terry...you're for sure in the right place. You got him out before anyone saw? How'd you get him to listen to you?"

"How did you? Even after everything we've done to him. I don't think Murphy should come back here. Every time he does he nearly dies. We need to find them a better apartment."

"Okay...Listen, I don't want you to stay for this..."

"What? Why?"

"Because I think you've done plenty for one day. You're maxxed out, Terry. You got us out, and you pretty much saved both of them. This...cleanup. We've got it. Here."

Connor’s keys jingled in his hand.

"Whyn't you take these to Connor? Text Elena, take her with you. You don't need to be alone. Do me a favor, shoot texts to everyone else to come on in."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Awesome welcome back, huh?"

"It's original, anyway. Go on, get away from this mess."

"You should call Connor. Did you see how he looked?"

"I know. I'm gonna call him. Send me back the rest of the troops, and take off."

Bodhi watched him go, looking around as the door snicked shut behind him. They surely had one hell of a mess to clean up.

Well...they'd do it. They had before.


	37. Chapter 37

They'd brought Murphy back with frightening rapidity.

The new doctors...Connor couldn't remember their names and didn’t care to...had whisked him away upon entry, leaving Connor stuck in a weird repetitive Deja vu limbo.

Hadn't they just left this party?

He'd been shown to what would be Murphy's room, rather unceremoniously dumped there and left to his own devices.

There was certainly no aggravating excess of solicitousness this time around.

Not that there had been any need.

He'd sat down to wait, taken a call of apology from Bodhi, along with a promise to be there as soon as the...situation...had been taken care of, another call from Collin, letting him know everything was back online...as if he cared... and a mysterious text, from who he had no idea and wasn't interested in enough to ask, also promising a visit shortly.

Terry had come in, briefly, looking so tired and sick it had been a wonder he was on his feet at all, dropped his keys on the bed and...literally...run from the room.

He hadn't been back.

Wasn't life just grand?

It was freezing in the room, or maybe only in him, and he'd just begun the hunt for a thermostat when Murphy was trundled back in, far too fast, in his opinion, for them to have done anything.

He'd watched them move him into bed, noting a nurse whose face he knew among the team, who made sure the tubes and wires....ominously few...were all on one side, smiling at him as she did so.

Room for him.

He'd waited until most of the team had filed out before confronting the doctor, a young man Connor was sure couldn't be old enough to be a real doctor.

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"What are you, like...fifteen?"

The guys smile was unoffended.

"You want to see my license?"

Uncomfortable with the look in Connor’s eyes, the waves of shivers running through his body, and his pallor, he gestured to him to sit.

"I want to check you over, you don't look much better than he does."

"I'm fine."

"Well, let me judge that. It's why they pay me. Is any of this blood yours?"

"No. His. You couldn't do anything for him?"

"What?"

"My brother. You only had him a few minutes..."

"A few minutes...no, Connor we had him for almost three hours, and it's not that there was nothing we could do, it's that it was a very easy thing to fix."

"You didn't have him that long, and even if you did, you can’t do surgery in three hours."

“Well, first...you're missing some time. You're sure you're not injured..."

"I'm not. Nothing happened to me."

"Connor, an awful lot happened to you. Don't disregard that...we won't be. As for Murphy, thank the wonders of modern technology. This was the type of problem that would normally be done on an outpatient status. Day procedure if you like. We didn't even have to open him up. We stopped the bleed with...Connor, tomorrow, when you're both a little more recovered, I'll explain it to you. But he should be fine. So should you. You're a little shockier than I'm happy with...would you consider staying overnight so I can keep an eye on you?"

"I wasn't planning to leave this room, so if I can stay in here that’s fine."

"You can."

"If it's nothing why's he getting blood?"

"I never said it was nothing. I said it was easily fixed. He lost a lot of blood, it was serious."

"What about that infection?"

"Nasty, but not out of control. It's been cleaned up, and he's getting some serious antibiotics. I don't anticipate any problems. I want to schedule some tests, do a thorough scan and make sure our friend didn't leave anymore hidden booby traps, but I think he'll be fine."

"That's what this was, then? A booby trap?"

"Most definitely. A surgically created defect. It was meant to bleed, minimally but constantly. The continual slow bleed would have kept him weak, tired...nauseated. If he hadn't been so active it could have gone on for a lot longer. I'm sure it was intended to. And the longer it went on, the greater the chance of serious...not so easily fixable...complications. He got lucky, Connor, as hard as that might be to believe. As bad as this is, it brought it to our attention. Were you there?"

"Only at the end, when he passed out."

"That's a shame, I'm curious to know...never mind. Thoroughly grotesque clinical curiosity…that collapse was more exhaustion than blood loss, by the way."

"The guy who was with him was here...he took off, I don't know if he left. If you find him, he's got some bad bites on his hand from Murphy. They'll need attention. He could probably answer all your gross questions. Is there any heat in this room?"

"It's on. That's shock, Connor. We'll get you taken care of. And cleaned up. You're wearing an awful lot of evidence. I don't know what happened, precisely, but the blood all over you certainly isn't yours, and it didn't come from your brother..."

"Some did, I picked him up."

"Very little, then."

He slipped on a glove, picked something out of Connor’s hair, something else off his face, displayed them in his palm.

"Bone fragments. You have them all over you. Also obvious brain tissue, and some..."

"STOP. Stop. If you keep going I'll throw up."

"Sorry. The life you lead....you don't strike me as the squeamish type."

"It's not usually like this."

"I know, it's different when it's personal. Oh, don't look so surprised. I don't know the details, but your reaction tells me it wasn't 'business'. Whatever happened, it's painful for you, and I'm truly sorry."

His phone chirped, and he glanced at it, looking satisfied.

"Bodhi's on his way up. He's going to help you get cleaned up. I know you've been showering alone for a long time, but this time he'll be with you. We have to make sure you don't miss anything. You'll have noticed nobody's been in. His instruction. As I said...you're carrying a lot of evidence."

"What about the EMTs?"

"Trained in discretion, Connor. Here's Bodhi. Let me know when you're done, we'll get you as comfortable as we can."

"Thanks. Hey, what's your name?"

"Dave. Bodhi, let me know when he's clear."

"Of course."

He watched him leave, turned to Connor. "Sorry about earlier. I had no idea what I was walking into."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry we put you through this. Looks like you were right...I trusted her with my life. With yours. And look how wrong I was...and my brother!"

"He didn't know who he was helping."

"I know, but...I'm just so sorry, Connor."

"I know. Shouldn't we get this done?"

"Yeah, I'm just waiting for someone. Two sets of eyes...I hope you don't have modesty issues."

"Depends. Who's the other person?"

"Me. Hi Connor."

He sighed, didn't smile, not sure how to feel.

"Hi, Maura."


	38. Chapter 38

The world had dropped away fast...it crept back in so slowly it was close to imperceptible.

He thought, at first, that the whole thing had been a dream.

As familiar as he'd become with waking in a hospital, it certainly wasn't much of a stretch to think that clandestine adventures, underground vaults, crazy secret old men living in windowless, classified bunkers, and insane computer hackers was the dream, this mundane waking the reality.

That the weeks of near healing, sneaking around, schemes and plots, stunning revelations and thick, sticky deception were naught but the product of imagination.

If that were the case, his whole life had been a dream.

Still, that truth notwithstanding, something wasn't the way he thought it should be.

His brain, really only considering emerging from the sludgy semi-consciousness it had grudgingly allowed, refused to identify just what wasn't right, seemed offended that he'd even ask it to make the effort. It had been through a lot, his brain...thinking was too disagreeable to contemplate.

Content to let it rest, he'd started to drift back when it came to him, flashing out of nowhere.

The window. The window was wrong, or at least seemed to be in the wrong place. Likewise the door...wrong place entirely...and now, having noticed one anomaly bringing them all into focus, he saw that the whole room was wrong.

His working mind, sick of all the duddery, sparked into being so abruptly he heard it, snapping and sizzling like a shorted wire.

The room wasn't wrong at all. It just wasn't his room.

And why should it be? He hadn't been in his room.

His memory seemed unwilling to return, reluctantly handing him tiny snippets of recollection, his struggle to remember an apparent affront.

He'd been sitting on the window ledge, peacefully dying, and then there had been a cat. Terry had strangled the cat. Or the cat had tried to strangle him.

What the fuck?

That was it, though. After the cat...and why did he think it was Italian... there was nothing.

He nudged at it for a few minutes, trying to force a cohesion that simply didn't exist, and it came to him, slowly, that he felt as high as a kite in a windstorm, that disoriented, disjointed feeling that always hit him with bad weed, that his own thoughts had turned slippery, eluding his grasp, growing sharp for teasing seconds, blurring away into a whirl before he could make them out.

Why would he feel like this?

The pieces started to come together, fell away, couldn't reconnect.

He was about to pass it off as inconsequential and just go back to sleep, shifting a little to get comfortable, when the advent of motion called his attention to the fact that he wasn't alone in the bed, and his shoulder was wet...Connor, arms wrapped around him, as close as he could possibly be.

Connor was with him...and Connor was crying.

Eyes widening in horrific shock...he hadn't even realized Connor was there, had left their connection dormant, how could he have done that?...he flicked that hidden switch in his brain, brought them back together, understanding now, as the sensation of being monumentally stoned fled, why he'd felt so disjointed.

It had been bad for Connor, too, broken apart, reeling in emotional free fall, silent, motionless, awake and trying not to wake him, alone in abject misery and guilt ridden self-loathing, lost without the taste of Murphy in his mind.

Murphy felt the relief that washed over him, felt the arms around him tighten, rode the link a little, tripped into a pool of grief and self-hatred, icy cold, impossibly deep.

Concern overrode all, and he turned to face his brother , that slithery, eel-like motion that always seemed available exclusively to him, arms immediately around his twin, snuggling him in as close as he could, foreheads pressed together, hand slipping into tangled hair in lifelong habit, feeling Connor’s silent tears intensify, mingled horror and relief taking him into real crying, soul deep and hard, too painful to hold in, felt shudders take him from deep inside, and tried to pull him closer... not that closer was really possible without climbing right into his skin with him.

Not for the first time he wished he could.

Murphy, who knew his brother better than either of them knew themselves, didn't waste their time, or his breath, on useless soothing, questions, or imploring pleas at Connor not to cry.

It wasn't what he needed, wouldn't help him any.

That he was editing it out, refusing to let it down the link, spoke volumes to Murphy's emotion driven operating system.

He wasn't able to think about it yet, much less talk about it.

He'd tell Murphy, eventually, when he could, but for now he needed to let it come, cry it out.

Much more Murphy’s way of coping than Connor’s...his comfort always came in analyzing things into the ground...for him to be this wrecked, Murphy knew it was serious, knew it was bad, and not just bad but BAD, and simply held him, riding it with him, siphoning off as much as he could.

Words would come later, as they inevitably must, but for now this was what it was, and it was exactly what Connor needed.

It tapered off a little at a time...receding, flowing back...waves on top of waves. Soon enough, words came, riding those tides of emotion, at first needing no response from Murphy but his silent acceptance, something he gave without question, mingled with the saturating love he'd never been able to hold back, would never wish to.

Eventually, though...and he'd known it was coming, dreaded it...not because he was afraid to hear it, but because he sensed how deeply just saying the words would scar his twin, how afraid Connor was that whatever he had done...and it was clearly something he had done...would drive Murphy away, make him hate him.

It would never happen, and Murphy tried to tie Connor to that fact.

It would NEVER happen, and there was nothing he could ever do that could change that.

Unable to be reassured, deep in a black and sticky pit of fear and guilt, Connor felt it sucking him down, knew the time had come.

Tell Murphy, who clearly didn't know, what he'd done and hope for the best, or just let it take him under and then stay there. Just drown and make his exit to the world of insanity.

After all...he'd been assured...they all went crazy.

He wasn't really even close to that, not yet, and he knew it and mentally shook himself. It was time to get it together. He was just scared, and he no longer had any patience for his fear.

He buried his face in Murphy's shoulder, tangled his fingers in his hair, mumbled something he knew Murphy hadn't caught, waited for the request to repeat it anyway.

"What, Conn?"

He pulled back a little, far enough to be able to see Murphy’s face, overcome for a second by just how much he loved him.

"You'll hate me, brother."

"You know I won't."

"I killed her."

Murphy rode the little rill of surprise, silently, 'killed' not something he'd been expecting.

"Killed who?"

He thought he knew, also knew Connor needed to say it out loud, admit it and make it real to himself.

"Ira."

"Why?"

"She meant it to be by inches but it was coming all at once."

That response, so disjointed, common enough a thing from him, so chilling from Connor, scared him more than any of this had, so far.

"What was she doing, Connor?"

"Killing you."

"All the little things. That's why I'm back here?"

"It is. But...Murphy... it wasn't...I wasn't even me. I didn't even think about it. I saw what she'd done to you...I lost it all, control, my mind, all of it. It tried to stop me, y'know how sometimes..."

"I do."

"It couldn't. Nothing could've."

The image came through, and Murphy witnessed, through his brother’s eyes, just what he'd seen, exactly what he'd done about it.

Good. GOOD. And if it wasn't befitting a saint then the saint could fuck off. It was human, and if Connor thought he hadn't been HIM...well that was proof right there that he'd forgotten who he was.

"Conn..."

"We can't lose control like that, Murphy. We can't. We lose control, people die."

"Oh shut it, we're people ourselves, before anything else! There's not a soul in this world who doesn't lose it sometimes. The only thing that makes us any more dangerous than somebody else is we always have guns. If someone hurts you, Connor, you have to fight back."

"It was already done, that wasn't protection it was vengeance."

"It was not. It was justice. Even if you didn't stop to think about it first. But Conn..."

"What."

"When I said just do it? That wasn't quite what I meant."

"Fucker. You don't hate me?"

"Totally hate you, Connor. Where do you get off saving a whole bunch of people from some crazy bitch who's better off dead? Don't ever speak to me again. Don't be an idiot, of course I don't hate you. How could I ever hate you?"

"You're way, Murphy...it hurts a lot more than mine."

"Sometimes. Not always."

There wasn't much left to say, and they let things rest in silence for a while, Connor, finally warm, awake a little longer, soothed by Murphy's steady breathing long after he'd fallen asleep, finally drifting off himself, smiling a little at Murphy’s 'just do it'.

They were both asleep, all the way under, completely, comfortably wound together, when Bodhi came in a couple of hours later.

He sat down, watching them sleep, affection fairly glowing in his eyes.

God knew, he hated to have to wake them, but as unfair as it seemed, it looked like they were all still in the woods, and sadly...he needed them.

Sighing, frustrated at the injustice of it, he got up and went to wake them.


	39. Chapter 39

In the end, he couldn't do it.

Hand hovering inches from Connor’s face, not even relaxed in sleep...well, god knew what his dreams were made of tonight...he just couldn't.

If the past weeks had been anything close to this night, and he suspected they had, there was little more these guys could take.

That grotesque shower had taken both of them down to nothing, the weird, glassy little clitter at Connor’s feet as two of Ira’s teeth fell out of his hair wrecking them both... Connor collapsing where he stood, retching helplessly, Bodhi running for the toilet...Maura's contempt for them both palpable.

Of course she'd had no idea...neither of them really did...what Connor had already been through, or how badly his own actions had frightened him.

He hadn't been grossed out, he'd been horrified, appalled...

She wouldn't have cared if she had.

He didn't know where her soul had gone, but she didn't seem to much have it, anymore.

He touched his own face, gingerly, the black eye he'd had for weeks now having been refreshed this night.

Maura had given it to him when he'd walked in with Logan, disgusted with him for falling for such a lame trick, believing Ira was her, believing any of the bullshit she'd spouted, for leaving the twins in danger.

She'd hit him, hard, and she'd done it again every time the bruise began to heal, every time one of his plans to communicate with the outside failed, every time Ira had reported back some new treachery.

All for Murphy. Not as loving or altruistic as he'd thought, but still for Murphy.

His gaze shifted to him now...pale and wan, circles under his eyes like black bruises, and no wonder.

Vomiting blood clots so immense they'd resembled internal organs, choking on his own blood...Bodhi had seen the room, splashed with gore it had looked like the scene of a massive evisceration.

That he'd come out of it only pale, and a few quarts low, was a miracle.

He'd go tomorrow for a full body scan, and Bodhi already knew they'd find more ticking, Ira set time bombs. That he'd face more surgeries...would be lucky if he lived, knowing Ira.

She was very thorough, Ira. She missed nothing. It was why they'd chosen her. If anyone could save Murphy, Ira had been the one, and her love for him...love they had no way of knowing would grow dangerously obsessive...would only inspire her efforts.

It had inspired them, alright. Her obsession with making sure Murphy stayed with them...triggered by Murphy himself with one passing comment...had grown lethal, insane, her desire to get his son out of the house no longer about insuring his safety but about assuring Murphy’s continuous residence ...in the end he didn't know if she knew she was killing him but he suspected she'd snapped far beyond caring.

He'd have to tell them why she'd done it, he supposed. Connor, particularly, being the 'why' 'how' kinda guy he was.

There was so much he had to tell them, and so much help he...and Maura...needed from them now.

She'd be furious when she found out he'd decided to wait, hadn't awakened them immediately to dump this new load of shit on them.

Well, she could hit him again if it made her feel better, though he doubted she would. He was pretty sure Connor had seen to that when he'd finally had enough of her disgusted, contemptuous comments about their lack of fortitude....Connor’s succumbing to his nausea an apparent personal affront to her she couldn't seem to let go.

Finally, weary, sick and shivering, he'd looked into her eyes, touched her face, gently, and remarked, softly but no less menacing for that..."We've already picked one friends brains out of my hair tonight. It won't cost me much more to make it two. Shut it."

He'd dropped his hand, glanced at Bodhi, and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. "I'd also suggest you keep your hands off him."

Bodhi was fairly sure she'd take the suggestion.

His eyes moved back to Connor, Connor the thinker, the pragmatic one, the fatalist.

Grounded in reality, what would he think of what he was on the cusp of learning?

Murphy, he thought, would find it settling. He thought that, to Murphy, it would not only make sense, but would answer a world of questions. It would feel right.

Connor, though...did this sort of ideation even have a place in his thinkers mind? It would interest him doubtless, but would he be able to believe it?

Lost in thought, mind a million miles away, it was several long minutes before he noticed Connor’s weary blue eyes gazing back at him.


	40. Chapter 40

Bodhi would never find a concrete reason he waited, why he didn't tell Connor what was up, that night.

It had seemed... an eerie Murphy echo he was completely unaware of in the moment...like the wrong time, and maybe it had been...Then again, the wait may have ushered in the tide of monumental weird, soon to come...but Bodhi really never knew.

He'd rethink it later, faced with a nightmare dreamscaped reality, and of course Connor as only Connor could be...so sharply scathing it was tempting to check for blood, so extraordinarily intelligent in pointing out everyone else's idiocy that it was impossible to imagine doing anything so stupid, let alone haul out an explanation for it...but here in this sad, weary NOW, they both needed it to be human. Close. Connected.

This tired, there was no place for anything else. It would always feel right to him.

Of course Connor had known there was something going unsaid, he'd seen it...of course he had...and some of his future scathing commentary would have to be self-owned, because he too had shunned revelation.

He'd opened his eyes to Bodhi, pensive and distant, caught halfway between watching them sleep...creepy enough...and lost in thought...that 'how am I gonna break this to them' kind of thought that Connor...hell, both of them...had always been able to see coming from a mile off, the last thing in the world either of them needed now.

Whatever it was, he didn't want to hear it.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to hear anything at all, didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to think...wanted no more than to curl up in Murphy and, if couldn't just die in his sleep, and he knew he'd never be so blessed, then sleep as close to forever as he could manage.

But here was this kid, trouble on his face, regret in his eyes.

Staring at him.

"What is it, Bodhi?"

"Nothing that can't wait."

He was surprised to find it was true. There was no good reason to be bothering them with this now.

"I'm sorry I woke you, I was about to leave. You should go back to sleep."

Connor’s eyebrows went up, clear skepticism.

"You might just as well have  
"LIAR" stamped on your head."

"I'm not lying, Connor. Maura wanted me to come drag you into some crap, but I'd already decided not to. She can handle it."

Connor, unable to stop the expression of distaste that crossed his face at her name, nodded in acceptance.

"Anything to do with her right now is just gonna make me want to shoot people. You got a smoke?"

Bodhi pulled out and tossed him a pack, disapproval all over his face. "You're really gonna go for a smoke in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, mom. YOU woke me up, and it's been Christ knows how long since I had one, I'm going with or without you."

He extricated himself from Murphy without causing him a hint of disturbance...a lifetime of practice...blocked, momentarily, by his lack of clothing, suspicion flaring in his eyes again when Bodhi handed him a duffel of his clothes.

"Why'd you bring my stuff...and his?? If it can wait? Are you fucking kidding me? She wanted us to go do something?"

He heard his voice rising and held up a hand to stop Bodhi’s reply, slipping into jeans as he cautioned him.

"We'll talk outside, I don't want to wake him up."

"You feel ok leaving him alone?"

"Shouldn't I?"

The sarcasm was heavy, and it hurt, none of this ever Bodhi’s intent.

Realizing he'd stung him, Connor backed off, apologizing around the smoke he'd already lit in direct defiance of the rules.

"That shouldn't have been aimed at you."

"Yeah, well, it was my people. I told you you could trust them."

"We tried to tell you."

Connor’s tone was gentle, mildly chiding, no more. "Never dismiss a war story from a veteran."

Bodhi slowed, suddenly, an unexpected and unpleasant chill prickling through his body at Connor’s words.

"Did you mean to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Say that. War stories. Veteran. Here, listen."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and handed Connor an earbud.

"I've had this on repeat all day. All the way over here. God knows why, I don't much like it. Kept making me think of you two, though. Like whoever wrote it was writing about you and Murphy, just as you are right now. Old song, too. 80's I think."

Connor listened for a few seconds, felt his own neck start to prickle, remembering the moments after he'd killed Ira, the strange music and oddly lyrical thoughts that had felt so alien to him. Thoroughly creeped out, he pulled the speaker from his ear.

"Jesus, that’s weirder than you know. Not now, though. Just...not now. I'm not up for a mindfuck."

He handed back the speaker and stepped into a stairwell, as far from Murphy as he was willing to go, propping the door with the side of his foot, eyeing Bodhi with a swiftly rising curiosity.

"So, Maura sent you to get us, huh? Don't worry, you already said not now, and I'm more than fine with that. It figures, though. She didn't seem quite satisfied yesterday."

"Satisfied?"

"She wasn't getting the reaction she..."

He trailed off for a second, all at once feeling disturbingly confessional.

"She wasn't getting the reaction she hoped for."

"Seems like you don't like her, much."

Connor, having heard the bitterness in his own voice, shook his head, not wanting to set up sides.

"Oh...Christ, it's so much more than if I LIKE her. I've known her forever, Bodhi, since we first got to Boston. Since way before any of this saints business. I trust her with my life, I'd die protecting her, and she's come way too close to dying protecting us. I love her, she's family. But no, I don't like her. I never did. She doesn't like me, either. There's no deep, hidden meaning or reason behind it. We just don't like each other. Back in the world of normal people she was Murphy’s friend...which of course made her mine by default...but we both resented the hell out of it. Might be the only thing we ever agreed on, she and I. And the closer she got to Murphy...it got too possessive."

"Were you jealous?"

The question was gentle, curious, no taste of accusation, and Connor found himself answering openly.

"A bit, yeah, it wasn't easy to get used to sharing him. NOT because he was sleeping with her. Murphy was all up in everybody, all the time. He was always after...connection. I never gave a damn about that. It was up here" he tapped his temple, "that it bugged me. She was so demanding about having to know him inside out. About getting inside him. I got used to it but I never liked it. If it'd been for him it would have been different, but it wasn't. It was for her, so she could say she had him."

He shook out another smoke... keenly aware that he was treading dangerous waters, talking this way to someone who knew and maybe loved her... lit it off the first, went on.

"The problem I had wasn't that they were close, it was why. I won't say she didn't love him...she did, without a doubt...but nothing was ever ABOUT him unless it was also about her. Not just him...she was like that with everything. Everyone. It was always about her. She'd do the most amazing things for people...but only if she got something from it. Only if she could say she'd done it. She had this whole kind of 'look how great I am because I did this' vibe going on. She wanted accolades. She was one of those....there are three kinds of people who stand out to me. The ones who won't go out of their way. They won't...sit up with a sick friend. They just make an excuse and go on with their day. Then there are the ones who will, they'll stay up all night and be dog tired the next day at work, but it is what it is and they do it out of something honest, something real, and they'll do it any time you need and they don't need to be congratulated for it. Then there's the people like Maura, who need congratulations AND applause. They'll sit up with you all night and be dog tired at work...but they make sure they tell everyone why they're tired, what they did, what a hardship it was, how it just took everything out of them....it's all about them, and the attention they get for being such great people. Every nice thing they do they collect attention for. That's Maura. She LOVED being one of the only people he'd talk to. Loved it. She felt like it made her special."

"Well, it kind of did, huh?"

"Yeah, but that shouldn't have been her motivation. She..."

"Bragged about it? She still does."

"I fucking HATE that. She was pissed at me, yesterday or last night or whenever. When I didn't fall all over myself thanking her for helping me pick someone’s eyeballs out of my face. When I got sick and she got mad...it wasn't because I was sick, it was because I pushed her away. I didn't want her to help me because I didn't want her collecting on it. I fucking hate it. I stopped letting her do anything for me a long time ago."

"You ever tell Murphy all that?"

"Didn't have to, he always knows on his own...but I did anyway every time he pissed me off. He always just laughed and called me judgey. Or catholic. Sometimes both."

He crushed out his smoke and pushed back through the door, ready to go back to bed, and to Murphy, watching Bodhi in his periphery as they walked.

"Bodhi, she's really got a kid? That wasn't bullshit?"

"She does. It wasn't"

"You met him?"

"Of course I've met him."

"Is he really Murphy’s?"

"That's what she says."

"Well what do you think?"

"Connor, what good is my opinion?"

"Just tell me what you think."

Bodhi’s quick smile disarmed him, and was the only reason, at least in Connor’s opinion, that he got away without a smack in the head.

"Well..." that sudden, bright smile, utterly charming. "He belongs to ONE of you. Nobody's that critical of someone they haven't slept with. See you in the morning, Connor."

Morning, unfortunately but all too predictably, the universe being what it was, brought a swift end to jokes and smiles.

Morning was when it all went strange, a bizarre bazaar of epic proportions not a one of them saw coming.


	41. Chapter 41

This time, it really was a dream.

No strange, ethereal waking, this, no...this was nothing if not fantasy, nothing BECAUSE it was fantasy...real, even so, being memory.

He'd suckled himself to sleep on her, night after night after sodden, gin soaked night...the alcoholic juniper scent mingling with the smell of her skin, pine shot through with warmth, eroticism and comfort in the meld of scent and sight, taste and texture...her nipple, ridged and hard, still pliable in his mouth, scents of soap and gin, tastes of salt and musk, her breathy little moans as his tongue....faltering as he drifted...brought her close, kept her peaked...as his mouth, working, sucking on her, slowed as his breathing levelled out and sleep claimed him. The flicker of firelight, gleam of her hair, shadows on the wall...slipping with him into dreams as her voice whispered to him to wake up, keep going, don't stop, fingers desperately rubbing between her own legs as his sleepy, comfort suckling brought her to the brink and left her there.

He woke, more nights than naught, as she slid herself onto him, warmth and wetness pulsing around him, her fingers and tongue flicking his nipples as she rode him, holding himself back, always knowing he'd left her hanging and affording her that courtesy...he'd let her get herself off on him, no hardship for him beyond holding back long enough for her to come...no small feat, that, as the combination of taste smell feel usually tipped him over as soon as he woke, or would have, if he'd let it.

He never let it, always waited for her...difficult for his body, responding entirely on its own...albeit slowly...she took exquisite care to be gentle with him... all too easy for his mind and soul, neither feeling much of anything, his awareness dimmed beyond that trippy, dreamy, multisensory flood of warm, flickering, scent and feel and taste.

He'd spent months feeling his every moment as a low grade hallucination, sweetly soft, always warm, some soft, gentle, loving body....if it wasn't her it was Connor, wrapped around him, holding, caressing, stroking, just loving him, painkillers mingling with his precarious hold on life creating the closest thing to peace he'd ever known.

Endless beautiful nights he'd wake surrounded by them, Maura on one side, Connor on the other, the sound and feel of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies his entire existence, his soul asylum.

Connor woke, always, when he did, those nights. As soon as his eyes blinked open he would feel him start to surface, feel their hearts tandem beats quicken a little with his waking, hear his own name breathed into his ear, feel the arms around him a little closer.

Most nights they simply drifted back to sleep together, Murphy safe in Connor’s arms, Connor safe in the knowledge that his brother still lived...other nights that dreamy, surreal hallucinatory sensuality took hold, and he would feel Connor’s breath quicken...always taking his with it..., feel him grow hard against his back as his hand reached between his legs.

Always so careful, always so gentle, stroking him sweetly, excruciatingly slowly, both of them so still...so quiet...kisses...sometimes bites...landing on the back of his neck, whispered words breathed into him, and in these times his soul responded with his body, delicious sensation filling him inside out and head to toe.

With Connor he could never hold back, didn't need to...on the brink he always felt Connor throbbing against his back, tied to Murphy's synesthetic perceptions and riding exactly the same wave. They'd come together, those nights...orgasms so sweetly intense and deep and long and they'd never find those again.

The safest, most at peace he'd ever felt, those nights.

The days had been hell...trapped in a tiny, fire lit room, hovering and caught in a strange tangled limbo between life and death, sometimes simmering in fever, sometimes clear of it, shivering and icy cold, sweating in a million degrees of hell, pain and nausea gripping him, gnawing and shaking him like some monstrous dog with an eternal bone.

Maura cooling his face, and giving him ice to hold when his hands were catching fire.

Connor holding his head, rubbing his back, comforting him through endless spun out retching.

Always there, the two of them, holding on, holding HIM, refusing to let him fall from the skin of the world, their voices a continual chorus of entreaties to hold on, to not let go, telling him he was ok, everything would be alright, that they loved him, they needed him, that he'd make it, he'd be ok.

He'd always believed them.

Of course, finally, when it had gone on too long for all of them, would come the inevitable sting of the needle in his arm and it would all drift away into the night, becoming sweet and beautiful, sensual and safe, warm and loving and peace.

He'd never asked them what they'd loaded those syringes with...never would... and they'd never told him, but he knew it hadn't been anything even remotely close to legal.

His eyes flickered a little, now, not awake, not yet, but the dream had begun to break apart, dissolving into a montage of imagery and sensation, last vestiges of memory still brushing his senses with that floating, fanciful, dreamy arousal, wisping away from him like drifting fog...lucidity taking hold one nerve ending at a time, transforming gentle, caressing arousal into demanding, painful, burning, not so much desire as a tense, throbbing congestion that demanded relief.

Mind still locked in the dream... body demanding release, he gridlocked, the little sounds he'd been making...sounds so soft but so undeniably erotic they'd taken Connor apart completely...now becoming more frustration than desire, more pain than pleasure, the last remnants of his dreams nowhere near enough to finish him.

Rising into full waking, eyes squinted against the glare of unexpected daylight, his focus on the searing discomfort in his nether regions, he didn't notice Connor, didn't feel him move, wasn't aware he was there at all...until his brothers mouth surrounded his aching dick, hot and wet and urgent, tongue pressing, sucking, stroking, exactly where it needed to...driving the breath from him as he felt himself coming almost at once....that long, searing burn, nothing but greed, intensifying into something living...evil erotic fingers crawling inside him, up through, ready to tear into Connor...

"Nononostop, Connor stop, Connor...!"

Already well beyond the point of no return, telling Connor to stop accomplished nothing but an intensive shift in sensation as Connor pulled away, leaving him to come just as hard to the stroke of cool air on wet skin, the throbbing, congested, burning need peaking with his climax, lingering as he rode it, settling into him like a grafted enemy as he came down, leaving him feeling wretchedly unfinished, still on the brink even though he'd come...burning and aching, sharp little stabs of agony keeping time with his pulse, blindly angry at Connor, blaming him, hating him, ready to hurt him, kill him, shred him into pieces, whatever it took to make it stop...  
...and it stopped. All at once, no warning, no fade, just gone, leaving him wrung out and breathless, clinging to Connor as if for life, beginning to shake in reaction.

"Connor, Jesus..."

"It's ok, you're ok. What was that?"

"I don't know. A dream. At the end it was like being possessed. I wanted to hurt you...oh my god, Connor."

He hugged him, hard, guilty panic pushing him and felt Connor pull back a little.

"You're about to break a rib, brother."

"Sorry, sorry..."

He relaxed his grip and snuggled into Connor’s shoulder, sighing a little in relief as he felt his brother’s arm come around him. "I just...god, for a minute, Conn, I HATED you. Like it was you who did it to me."

"Did what, Murph?"

"I don't know, it was a dream I think. When I came it was like it made it worse. Like I had to come again, real real hard, but would never...EVER... be able to and would feel like that forever. And something inside me was alive and hated you and wanted to...shred you. Or eat you. And I hated you for letting it out. It was just a dream..."

"See if I ever suck you off again."

"I wouldn't blame you if you never did. It felt good though, until Satan showed up."

"Oh good, at least if...oh, no...now that’s not right..."

His voice went strange, voicing a thought at himself, and Murphy felt him shiver.

"You alright?"

"I feel weird, Murphy. Not so good."

Murphy's hand touched his forehead, gentle and concerned. "You sick?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I just feel wrong. Like my skin's crawling on the inside. Maybe it's Satan."

He climbed out of bed, half unsettled, half laughing, and back into his clothes, digging out his cigarettes and lighting one, fuck the rules.

He held up the smokes, offering, and Murphy shook his head in painfully real regret.

"Can't. Some kinda fucked up test today. They told me no food, not like I can eat anyway, no smokes, no caffeine...I'm pretty sure he was reciting off a list in his head, since I'm not allowed to swallow anything."

"What's the test?"

"Fucked if I know. Some kinda scan. Not supposed to take long, or hurt or anything."

"Oh, the booby trap scan. I wonder if they make you radioactive?"

"Radioactive, Connor?"

"Some of those scans do."

He started to put his shoes on, hesitated, seized suddenly by hard, deep shivers...cold to his core...even as he realized he was sweating, swallowing against a sudden wave of nausea.

"Christ almighty."

"You ok?"

"No. I REALLY don't feel good."

"Lay back down, then. It's not like there's anywhere you gotta be. I don't feel good, either. Maybe we're getting the flu or something."

Connor stretched back out next to his brother, watching smoke drift over his head, hoping for something as prosaic as the flu. It'd be a nice change.

"That would be far too normal for us, brother."


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter weird? I feel like this chapter is weird...

They'd become aware of it painfully slowly.

"What is that?"

"It's a radiotracer, sweetheart. The scan will read it."

Over the weeks, the fading was so gradual as to have gone virtually unnoticed by them both. Little riffs of disquiet, subtle unease, draining away a drop at a time.

"I'm going to put this mask over your face. It's going to feel a little claustrophobic but try to breathe normally. It's not anesthetic, it won't put you out."

"What is it?"

"Another tracer. Try to stay as still and quiet as you can for the next half hour while those medications take effect."

By way of comparison, the amplification of their abilities when they'd arrived had been nothing short of brilliant…no slow brightening, that, they'd gone supernova on entry.

"Murphy, do you feel alright?"

"Fine."

"No headache, no nausea?"

"No, I'm ok."

"Alright, let’s get started then"

His empathic sense, grown sharp over the years but still only that, just a sense of people’s emotional weather, had become a force of nature almost as soon as they'd arrived. Touching people no longer gave him a feeling of them, it gave him them entire, prying into their secret corners, taking everything. He hadn't liked it, it had felt, to him, like emotional rape.

"There's a button at your left hand, if you start to feel sick, or if you need us, press it and it'll call us. We can see you, as well. There's a camera above you. Ok?"

"Fine. This doesn't bother me."

"Do you want us to turn some music on for you?"

"I don't care."

"Stay still, this'll be about an hour."

Connor’s raging intuition had combined with his already near flawless skill at reading people and his ability to think around corners, intensified, and become some kind of flaming telepathy, picking thought and intention from people’s minds as easy as breathing.

"Still doing ok?"

"Fine."

Their own, inborn sense of each other had become outright mind reading, the ability to reach, touch and manipulate their connection fine-tuned to an art.

They'd stopped needing to speak.

Together, those few times they'd deliberately linked themselves entire, they'd felt powerful enough to crack the world if necessary. It had been heady stuff, and had kept Murphy going, with his guts tied in knots, far longer than he should have been able.

"Alright in there?"

"Yes. You jump me out of my face every time you do that. You don't have to check on me."

"Sorry, Murphy."

They hadn't noticed when it started...it had been too subtle, too gradual... he had no idea, really, though if forced to come up with a guess he'd have said it started with the first surgery.

Consciously, the faintest first nudge that something wasn't right the day Connor had, jokingly he'd thought, told him to use his words.

More and more, since then, they'd found themselves having to speak to each other, tell each other things...shocked each and every time that the other hadn't just known...finding themselves actively wondering about each other and making an effort to reach down a link that had always before transmitted on its own an unaware awareness of each other as limbs...each just an extension of the other, inborn and natural. To have to think to check it...alien to them.

"Almost done, Murphy"

"Didn't I ask you not to do that?"

"Sorry. Habit."

He thought they'd both noticed something consciously, for the first time, when they'd synched up the day Ira had died, and felt that rush of RIGHTNESS, too busy in the moment to really have time to register that they'd been missing it, that they hadn't already been synched by default.

Christ alone knew how many times they'd consciously activated it without realizing, except on some deeply visceral, inaccessible level, that they'd had to.

Since then the little losses had been minute, infinite, continual and heartbreaking. No warm arm slipped around a waist in comfort, no touches exactly when they were needed, no already assimilated assurances, no easy knowledge of each other’s details.

Only the sense, in each of them, that the other was still there.  
If they needed more they had to go get it, something they'd never needed to do and didn't think to do now.

They'd openly realized just how gone it was when Murphy had remarked, somewhat sadly, that they still hadn't seen Maura.

That Connor had, and that she'd sat by his bed, hoping he'd wake, for hours had come as a complete shock.

He'd asked Connor why he hadn't told him, and Connor’s baffled; "I just figured you knew! Why don't you know?!" Had confused and alarmed them, forced their attention to it and rammed it home.

How many times one of them hadn't known, had to be told.

Murphy not realizing Connor was with him, Connor having to be told to stop sucking him off when it got weird, Murphy not realizing, until he looked at him, that his twin was sick, Connor unaware...still unaware...how close to giving up Murphy was.

"That's it, honey, we're bringing you out. Shut your eyes, it's bright out here."

"Thanks."

They'd been losing their grip on each other...disconnecting through no will of their own...and now it was pretty well gone, something that took real effort to pull together.

"Give me just a minute to make sure we're good before I release the straps."

"Ok."

They'd realized, on analysis, that they'd been missing things, important things....failing to get a read on Ira the most lethal...and they'd pretty much blown their load that day, between Elena, Ira and Logan. They didn't get much on anyone, anymore, even synched...and synching itself had become something hard enough to accomplish that it'd begun making Connor sick to try.

"Sit up slowly, Murphy. You feel alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Headache? Nausea? Dizziness?"

"I'm ok."

Something here had amplified them brilliantly. And something here had shut them down.

Something had taken the best of them.

Feeling as defeated as he'd ever felt, sick inside at the emptiness where Connor should have been, giving up...giving in...had never seemed closer or more viable.

For the first time in his existence, suicide flashed through his mind as a serious workable option. Given time, he knew, it would become a driven desire.

"Ok, Murphy. I'll take you back, now."

"How long before I know what that found?"

"Today."

"Ok."

 

Connor’s thoughts had begun the same inevitable wanderings down that suicidal pathway, his dual natured brain possessing no ability to cope with an abruptly single natured soul.

What had caused it, or if anything could fix it equally unknown...an unknown he'd given up his tireless attempts to figure out, as his brain had begun a bizarre mental seizing, random pieces of thoughts that made no sense on permanent repeat in time to a peculiar beat of...vacuum... in his head.

He could hear it, the enormous clap of everything being sucked out, feel it...indescribably horrid, suction and taser combined...with every other heartbeat.

Perhaps it was because he'd stopped working it, given up trying to quantify unknowns he stood no chance with, that it came to him...crashing in on the beat of the zap in his brain...or perhaps it was the sweating waves of utterly unmanning nausea, winning finally, forcing him out of bed and onto the bathroom floor.

More likely it was both, but whatever brought it on, he had it.

This wasn't mental.

This wasn't them losing their minds, their will to live, their usefulness, or Jesus save them, their connection.

They'd been born with it, couldn't lose it for Christ sake, and what a stupid notion that had been.

This was physical. Entirely, completely, one hundred percent physical.

This was something being done to them....or, his logical mind, not unfamiliar with the effects of excess, or more particularly the sudden absence thereof, as well as some very telling…until now completely subconscious... experience with modern medicines attempts to 'fix' them, told him...something that had, very abruptly, STOPPED being done to them.

This miserable sweating, shaking, brain zapped, puking mess was not...entirely...unfamiliar to him.

Nor, he realized, genuinely startled by the revelation, was the gradual cessation of their connection.

Because...and it was all there, all at once, crystal clear and entirely in focus...it had happened before.

He'd forgotten about it...blocked it out in all likelihood...and was fairly sure Murphy had never even realized what had been done to them back then.

But yes, it HAD happened before, and probably exactly the same way and for exactly the same reason it was happening now.

They'd been roofied...though he supposed Ira would have termed it 'medicated'...and for a damned long time by the feel of it, and by how far down their link had gone.

Christ, probably since they'd walked in the door.

Her death...and he knew it was longer ago than he remembered, knew he'd been losing time in huge chunks and now knew why...forcing what he now recognized as active withdrawal.

Not, he reflected irritably, that the knowledge would do him much good if he couldn't get himself together...or at the very least up off the fucking floor.

Cursing Murphy, who didn't feel good but at least wasn't, thanks to boatloads of antiemetics, puking his brains out, wondering what it might take to get some himself....and of course it turned out that all he had to do was ask...he hauled himself up, grabbing the useless little kidney shaped basin they always handed over to throw up in, Christ knew why, the fucking thing either spilled or tipped over and messed everything up anyway, on his way back into Murphy's room.

When his brother...who, he knew, was feeling just as ready to hang himself as he was, no connection necessary for that, just an understanding now of what was going on...got back, they had a lot to talk about.

And a lot...regardless of any Murphy scorn forthcoming...to plan.

He had no idea how much more complicated their lives were moments from becoming.


	43. Chapter 43

Connor’s call left Bodhi wondering, again, just how it could be that the twins considered themselves anything approaching ordinary in any way.

Even in a complete panic...and it'd taken Bodhi a little minute to understand just what Connor was so worked up about...and convinced they'd been rendered completely inert, he had ticked into Bodhi’s mind without even knowing it...Bodhi reaching for the phone to call Connor with the information that he and Murphy had been on tricyclics even as it rang beneath his hand.

Leave it to Connor to have figured it out, not that it helped any with his seemingly terminal self-underestimation. From his perspective, he was effectively brain dead. From Bodhi’s, he was miles ahead of just about everyone.

He'd listened, patient as always and knowing Connor needed to vent some of it, finally breaking in when he sensed his friend’s manic freak-out reaching overload.

"Connor, stop a minute."

No good, the ragged diatribe flowed on, resisting repeated attempts to interrupt until he finally gave up and shouted into the phone.

"Connor! Stop!"

He'd had to struggle not to laugh, almost able to see Connor’s face in the shocked silence that somehow echoed down the line.

"I'm on my way up to you as soon as we hang up, but listen to me. Ok? Will you?"

A beat of a pause, and then Connor’s voice, suspicious and cautious, forcing him to stifle another laugh.

"Go ahead."

"You're not switched off, either one of you. At WORST all she managed to do is disconnect your speed dial to each other, and trust me, it's temporary. I know exactly what she used, how much, and why. I have all her documentation in front of me. I'm bringing it up, ok?"

Silence on the other end, not even breathing, and for a minute he thought he'd been hung up on.

"Connor, you still there?"

A strange, halting whisper this time, rushed and breathless...

"Yeah just a minute." and Bodhi knew he was fighting nausea, wincing a little in sympathy and cursing Ira to infinity.

"Get off the phone Connor. I'm on my way up."

The line clicked off in his ear, no other response.

Sighing, wishing he could undo the entire last year of all of their lives, he grabbed his cell and headed their way.

He wasn't much encouraged by what he found when he got there. 

Terry, already there and...highly unusual for him...clearly irritated, waved Bodhi in, shaking his head.

"Man, I don't know...they're a fucking mess, nobody's making any sense at all. Connor’s been throwing up since I got here, and..."

"Could be it's an opinion."

This from Murphy, who's scowl more than matched Terrys, inciting a nod and a strained smile,

"...and he's like that. I don't know what he's pissed about because he won't tell me, but apparently I suck."

"I'm right here, I CAN hear you, y'know."

"I know, Murphy. Bodhi...please."

He fell into a chair, fingers pushed into his temples, hoping the headache pulsing there wouldn't get any worse, knowing the futility of that particular dream.

Bodhi, as unshakeable as his brother, nodded at nobody in particular, dug into his bag, handed Terry an aspirin bottle and an admonition... "It’s not aspirin"...and sat down.

"Where IS Connor?"

"In the bathroom. He won't come out."

"That's because he's sick, you don't have to make it sound like he's just being an asshole."

"Murphy, I wasn't..."

"Yes you were. Why are you even here?"

"Murphy...won’t you just tell me what's wrong?"

The pleading sympathy in his voice seemed only to aggravate the situation, as real anger flashed in Murphy's eyes and he spat a retort.

"Really?! I can't THINK! My brother's sick and I can't help him! You've been drugging us for god knows how long, or how long it'll take to wear off and I'll never be able to leave this fucking place EVER! You've taken EVERYTHING! My life, my brother, my mind, and every single option. Everything. What next? You have all of me, I'm useless to you now. Do I die in my sleep, at least?"

"Stop, Murph...wait."

Connor stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the jam, paper pale and sweating, eyes arrowed in on Murphy like lasers.

"What do you mean you can never leave?"

"That fucking scan, Connor, you...no, you don't know because I forgot I have to tell you. I forgot you won't know."

He looked up at Bodhi, helpless in his pain and confusion.

"Did you really have to take it ALL? My life wasn't enough?"

"Murphy..."

"They found a huge problem, Bodhi, one they can't fix that'll make it impossible for me to ever really do anything in any way physical again, that'll mean I have to stay within reach of medical help...which means here.   
I asked them to do me the courtesy of telling me first... they did...and of course I'm only half me right now and I don't have any idea how to deal with it. And you..."

His eyes, no longer angry, beyond devastated, bore into Terrys, ignored the tears he saw there.

"You're the only one who's always known just what's going on and you've always told everyone but me. Even this, you knew and didn't respect me enough to just tell me. You made me wait and find out alone."

"No, Murphy..."

As distraught as Murphy, eyes spilling over, unchecked, he tried to go to him, stopped by Connor’s hand on his chest, effective as a steel bar.

"Connor...Murphy I just found out! I called Bodhi and came right up to talk to you, it's why I'm here, I wouldn't have LET you be alone...and I DIDN'T know about the drugs, or that you're cut off from Connor, and you can believe me or not, I can't lie to you. Not won't. Can't."

He pulled away from Connor’s restraint and sat next to Murphy, keenly aware of the danger, fear for himself utterly nonexistent, rendered inert by the inborn need to protect these brothers who had no idea, whatsoever, who they were with, or the lengths to which these people would go for their lives.

"Bodhi and I...we came up to tell you everything, everything you'd have already known if Bodhi hadn't been taken, if my hands hadn't been tied.

About why you're who you are, who we are, and about your SON, Murphy.

Bodhi made a terrible mistake the other night, when he decided to let you recover a little before he told you. He and Connor both. Bodhi, you'll have to help them."

"I will. Murphy, this'll be easy for you, much harder for Connor. Easy for me, I think like you. Tough for Terry, even though he knows it’s true. He thinks like Connor. You HAVE to connect, Murphy. I know you're both feeling sick, and disconnected from each other, and God knows I know it's my fault, but Murphy...try anyway. Not for me, for Connor. Ok?"

His seriousness, and his involuntary and unregistered tears reached into Murphy's soul, and he felt something tap in, not like Connor, but like him, realized he was feeling Bodhi, that he was sending him a link. That he wouldn't force him to tick in, was, only inviting him.

Respectful, true, completely honest.

Nodding, somehow unsurprised that Bodhi could reach in this way, he took Connor’s hand, pulling him down next to him, and let Bodhi feel the hook into his mind.

"Can you get him something to make him feel a little better?"

"Of course. All he ever had to do was ask. But we need to do this quickly. I’m afraid my decision the other night...I'm afraid it might ruin that little boy if we can't find him and get him to you."

"FIND him?"

Connor’s sense of nearly hysterical disbelief at what he was hearing overrode even his illness, for a moment.

"You're telling me that this kid...people have been willing to kill for....this all important kid...and you don't know where you put him? Are you KIDDING?! Who the FUCK are you texting?"

"David, to get some Compazine for you. As soon as you feel better I'm gonna hit you with so much information you won’t be able to stand it. Also an email of Murphy's scan results. No disrespect intended, Murphy, I want to be damn sure you got the right information...Jesus...why do you say you can't ever leave?"

"Because she didn't leave enough of me in me. There's no more weird little traps, but there's also not enough of me left to survive on. I won't ever be able to eat enough to keep myself alive, so I'll always have to be plugged into something at least part of the time. So I won't ever be able to leave."

"Were you planning to?"

"Unless I had a reason to want to stay."

"Jesus...you would have. All anyone would have needed to do was tell you."

A tap on the door turned his attention, and he nodded toward Connor.

"Give that to him. Connor..."

"I know. Please allow for the fact that I still have half a brain."

He disappeared into the bathroom again, leaving them to their silences until the door snicked open again.

"Connor, you ok?"

Connor’s nod was short, his expression stone. He'd already heard enough to make him suspicious.

"Bodhi, you said you had to get this kid TO Murphy...I thought the point was to get him away."

"No, Conn. People didn't wait until they knew everything. Are you guys ready? Murphy, you're linked in a really weak way to me...and we'll explain that...but I need you to hook in with Connor. You CAN."

"I know. It's not easy to hold, so quit stalling. I need you to explain something first thing."

"What's that?"

"Why were we drugged?"

"Tricyclics disrupt the brain chemistry that allows this type of mental connection. They dim it out."

"She didn't want us to be able to link to each other."

"She didn't care about that. She didn't want Matt to be able to link to YOU. When you both got here, and got so much stronger, she knew he was. She tried to stop it."

"How could..."

"Because he's your son, and he's trying to survive. And I really don't know if he's going to."


	44. Chapter 44

Murphy, caught as always in his endless misgivings about timing, almost put the ball out of play before the game could even begin.

"You keep saying he's my son. I don't see how that's possible. Someone told me he's six, is that right?"

"Yeah, Murphy, but for now can we..."

"I last even saw Maura five years ago. The oldest he could be now would be, what...four. He's not mine."

"That's between you and Maura, that fight. And she'll be up here soon. Can we not worry about that, just for the moment?"

"No." Connor, sharper than most even at half power, wasn't about to skate past the obvious. "You just finished telling us that all this bullshit hinges on him being Murphy’s son. We're going to worry about it. Terry, bring the laptop over here, I want to see what you have."

"Ok...c'mon Bodhi, we're in this all of us. Where do you want me to start?"

"Start with them."

"Cool..."

In his element, Terry shoved between the twins, his quick murmur "pay attention" almost inaudible as his eyes tracked the screen.

"You guys, doing what you do, you think it's a calling from God..."

"Well, we did. Now we don't know what it is except a curse."

"Uh huh...it's neither. It's a bloodline. We've been able to definitively trace it back almost three hundred years...we know it goes back much much further, but records get..."

Bodhi cut him off, gentle but without a doubt serious.

"Focus, Terry. Later, if they're interested in all that."

"Sorry. Guys, this is just the genealogy of this...trait...in your paternal line. I have over eighty families in here, so far, all doing what you do...not in the same way and that's important Bodhi so shut up. In your line the people who have it tend to aggressively seek out people who prey on the innocent, and kill them. It's THE single most violent expression we've found so far, because there have been members of your family who don't wait for the predators to make a move. They eliminated them while they were still just a threat. Connor, that was the idea that kinda totaled you that day, right? You're not the most violent in your line, but your line is definitely the most violent. Other families do it other ways, but it all comes to the same thing. There are family lines out there who breed a certain type...in the simplest possible terms, people who protect the general population. It's not a calling, it's genetic, passed down ONLY through the paternal line and expressed ONLY in males. The women can carry the trait but so far we've never seen it expressed in a female, nor have we ever seen it passed from mother to son...as this. They do pass something, but we'll get to that in a minute.  
There are definite physical characteristics shared by every man affected by this, as well. Some we can account for with science...some just blow my mind. This...is a scan of a normal brain. All this color is activity. All this? Just sitting there kinda doing nothing. Totally average. This... is the brain of a schizophrenic. See these spaces, how much bigger they are? And how all these different areas are active? Mental illness isn't mental. It's all brain activity and THAT is nothing but chemistry. This...is someone like the two of you."

"Uh..."

"Right?!"

Clearly delighted, he was reduced for a moment to just grinning at them.

"Kind of like both, but with a whole lot more going on than either. I brought up the schizophrenia image because of this. Same brain, after several weeks on imipramine. Old tricyclic antidepressant. It's what Ira gave you. Look at all this that used to be alive and active. It's just..."

"Switched off."

"Yeah. Supposedly that's better. This...is what happens when one of you guys gets this drug."

"Actually one of us?"

"No."

"Do you have them? Scans of us?

"Yes."

"Without our consent."

"Connor, it wasn't my call."

"Keep going."

"We don't know for sure, but we think this area here is what makes that link between you work. I know, Bodhi, I know.

Anyway, it’s a scientific, viewable physical trait you all have in common. Other ones...a drastically reduced need for sleep, much higher than average resistance to common viral and bacterial infections...you guys almost never get sick, and when you do it's usually something that would kill most people...and an absolutely amazing recovery speed...you get over things fast and easy. From the data we have, this trait carries a zero cancer rate...zero. Basically, everything is increased. Healing time, recovery rate, resistance, cold and heat tolerance."

"Terry, we get sick...we get cold...we have to sleep..."

"Yes. None of this says you're not human. You're just...more durable than the average. Smarter, too by a longshot. But the thing that freaks me out...there's no computer graphic or data for this...you're incredibly hard to kill. Just as easy to hurt as anyone..."

"Clearly."

"Murphy...but you heal from things other people typically don't. Getting your guts stitched together by a vet tech, months of systemic infection you can't possibly have survived...there's no way to explain that that I know about. Yeah, adhesions got you later, but the fact is...by the time you were admitted anyone else would have been dead, and if not for Ira you'd be well over it now. So...it's all genetic, even the parts that mystify the shit out of me. You both ok so far?"

"Sure, but as interesting as this is, what does it..."

"I'm getting to that. Along with the answers to the questions about me and Bodhi that are running around your heads.

All this...It's passed from father to son, but obviously it doesn't express in every boy who gets it. Some are just...typical people. None of this applies.

Some get it all, but the final part...the...the...call to action. That part never manifests."

"That's last?"

"Always. It always happens post puberty, and it's always triggered by proximity to the paternal bloodline. It also seems proximity is unavoidable no matter what...you two are the perfect example. All this...was you two, but that demand to ACT...that didn't come until you just happened to leave your home country, and happened to wind up in not only the same country, but the same region, time zone, state and city as your father. Hell of a series of coincidence, innit. How long were you here before..."

"A year, maybe."

"If he'd been closer, it would have been faster. There are other things...personality traits. Bodhi’s having a breakdown wanting me to move this along so I'll just say...people tend to like you, more than that...they trust you."

He clicked off the brain images, pulling them back to the genealogy.

"This is the tracking we have, so far, of the bloodlines of the GIRLS who inherited the gene from their fathers. The....wait. First. Have you noticed that almost everyone here has siblings in residence? Collin's my brother, Bodhi, Donny and Logan are brothers, Elena has a sister here, and a brother..."

"Stop there, Terry."

Bodhi’s interjection was sharp, jarring, immediately putting their hackles up. He was hiding something. Again.

"Yeah...there's a reason for that. The only people here..."

He eyed Bodhi significantly, as if daring him to say something.

"...who don't have blood family here is because their families are dead, or in another house. THIS is one line, passed down maternally, from the same root as yours. It's mine. This one...is Bodhi’s. These lines have some similar physical characteristics. ...we're SLIGHTLY less durable. Our brains are slightly less active but we share the same type of chemistry. It's why we can somewhat link with you, why we know how you're feeling, what you're questioning. We also have a drive to action that's triggered by proximity to very specific bloodlines. In my case, it was you, Connor. In Bodhi’s, it was Murphy. This drive...is to protect you. To keep you alive. To HELP you. There are whole bloodlines, passed paternally, that exist to protect...the world. And parallel bloodlines, passed maternally, that exist to help them do that. And THIS is where it gets weird. Where my brain starts to go under. So I'm going to let Bodhi continue. But pay attention, because this is also why everything here went down the way it did. Why Ira did what she did...and Maura...and why Matty...whoever he belongs to...is in trouble.


	45. Chapter 45

And so, it'd come to this.

Handed to him, now, to explain the unexplainable, ward off the inevitable, and keep these two, who no longer had the faith even to consider fate, from just dismissing him for a fool, or worse, doing so AFTER they beat him to a bloody mess.

"You two are ok so far?"

Murphy, as powerfully fascinated as Connor was skeptical, nodded, answering a little breathlessly.

"Yes, Bodhi, yes, keep going."

"Nothing I'm about to tell you is really quantifiable. Brain scans on the lying part exist. And death certificates and committal papers on the children, but all you have in front of you is me...ok, for every family line of YOU, there exists a matching family line of US. If those of us who carry the trait are triggered, by proximity of someone in our matching bloodline, we're driven, more driven even than you are, to do whatever we have to do to keep you alive. It doesn't wait for us to be of age, and it doesn't come with options. Usually, until we meet you face to face, we hate you. Our lives disappear in a blink and become this...nightmare. Just like yours.

Usually, though, we meet you and love you too much to ever resent you again. If that's genetic, or just that you're genuinely lovable people I don't know. Maybe both. Whatever it is, it's dangerous.  
There are things...we can't lie to you. Can't physically do it. I know, you think all we've done is lie to you, but if you go really look, no lies. Very creative versions of truth, yes, but completely true.

Omission...yeah. If we didn’t mention it, we didn’t lie. To get anything by you we have to be extremely creative. Of course there's no good reason to try to get anything by you, except we do everything in our power to protect you, including protecting you from painful truths. Shackled by an inability to lie, except when we're forced to by the same laws or rules or brain chemistry that won’t LET us lie to you. Sometimes it won't let us, sometimes it makes us, when it's something you're not meant to know. This...is going to be very hard for me to communicate to you, and I'm doing it so you SEE, ok?"

"I...yeah. Ok."

"You...when we met, you asked me..."

He stopped, swallowed, began again... the words jammed in his throat like fingers, stroking, choking and gagging.

"You asked me why…"

"Why you took a bullet for me. It was because you HAD to? You were eleven years old!"

"I know."

"Was that when it..."

"Triggered in me? Yeah. And it's why I lived. Like you...we're hard to kill. Don't look at me like that, Murphy. Don't be sorry. I'm not."

"How can you not be?"

"I'm just not. Neither is he...none of us are. Once it comes, it's who we are and it's what we want. But we're as human as anyone, and we fuck up all the time. All the time. And this time...see...the problem is...we fall in love with each other. Us and you, you and us. It's a synergy that makes the impossible possible, you get it? But...it was discovered, a long time ago, that it can be lethal. And this is where we've been fucking up for decades. Terry figured it out, but this damage had already been done.

Nobody was on the same page...fuck, we weren't even in the same library.

The two lines, us and you, they're so intertwined, it all becomes sexual. Children are conceived, and the children die.

"Why do they die?"

"None of us knows for sure, and what we do know is limited. Usually they die shortly after conception. If they survive to birth, it's because the father...and NONE OF HIS LINE...are around.

Brothers, uncles, first cousins, grandads...they're lethal.

If the child survives birth, and is female, she'll be ok, physically at least. They can get strange, but they live. The boys...the older they get with no paternal bloodline contact, the better their chances for survival. Up until three or four years old, they'll usually die. Contact sets up something in their brains and they stroke out. Some live but...they're usually too damaged to know it.

These kids aren't meant to exist. They possess the same overactive regions of the brain of both lines, the same brain chemistry, but none of the durability. In fact, they're incredibly fragile.

Past that four/five year old point they tend to live, but contact triggers the drive to act. They don't carry the full genetic package from either line, but an incompatible mix of both. The drive can be anything. In your line...our line...it's violent. It doesn't trigger post puberty, sometimes these little boys are five years old and killing things, trying to sacrifice themselves..."

"Stop, Bodhi..."

"I can't stop. You HAVE to know, because you're the only chance your son has. We've always known pater contact triggers them...and at best they go insane...so the goal has been to keep them away from their fathers...and their father’s immediate blood family. It gets harder and harder to do with travel the way it is...they always eventually run into someone and trigger.

Our goal has always been to keep you safe.

And it's also been to keep you away from Matthew.

Jordan drove that train right over a cliff...everyone listened to him.

When Maura said we were bringing you in, he panicked...convinced everyone you had to be kept apart. Ira and Logan were entirely committed to it...but the rest of us knew it was pointless. It was already too late.

When the two of you came back to Boston...Matthew triggered.

He started getting weird about time...Murphy, that's where you're getting that, by the way. You're picking it up from him.

His empathic abilities were already amazing...they went through the roof and so did yours. He was so tuned in to people he seemed telepathic...like you, Connor, but he got paranoid. Six years old and the world is out to get him. He started hurting himself...I caught him trying to hang himself...he's not even aware it can be done but he was still doing it... He won't eat, he thinks it's all poison...that's bleeding in to him from your illness, Murphy. I know you don't think it's possible, but he's your child, Murphy. If he weren't..."

"If he weren't I wouldn't be killing him. That's why Ira started drugging us.'

"Yeah."

"Why not just heal me up and send me away?"

"Because we'd found the flaw... Terry was researching like a fiend...he didn’t sleep for weeks...looking for any case where one of these kids survived. Maura was determined to bring you in...and we had to, you were so sick Murphy, we couldn't....and didn't want to!!! sacrifice either of you. We'd pretty much realized it was already too late to separate you...we were looking at losing you both, potentially all three of you...we couldn't let it happen.

We brought you in...but by that time Ira had corked off and taken Logan with her. I don't know what was in her head when they snatched us. It never made any sense. She wanted you both to live, and she was convinced Maura was going to get you both killed. I don't know.

But Terry discovered a handful of kids who'd survived to adulthood. There seemed to be two possible survival patterns. Complete avoidance of the pater bloodline, or, once the kid triggered, complete immersion in it. Continuous paternal contact, once the kid had triggered, in several kids seemed to have...directed...the drive to action. In essence, it forced them to a side...one set of synapses in the brain being used, one set allowed to go dormant? That's what Terry thinks it must be. Like treating lazy eye by covering the good eye with a patch, so the weak eye strengthens, but in reverse. Paternal contact....MUST....force one option, causing the other to atrophy. It's the only thing that makes sense.

I told Ira that, thinking she'd let us go. All it did was change her obsession from getting him out to making sure you stayed, and then you told her you wouldn't get within a hundred miles of any children, if you had any, because it would make them targets."

"She asked me if I wanted kids!"

"Calm down I'm not saying you did anything wrong. You were honest and absolutely right. But she lost it.

I was hacking Donny like crazy because I KNEW she was gonna hurt you, but I couldn't be obvious. I'd told Logan but between her and Jordan the poor kid didn't know what to think, or do. He was trying to stay neutral...keep us out of the way in case she was right, but...he's a mess, now. He blew ALL his circuits doing that. So did Ira. She wouldn't have made it even if you....whatever, I kept trying...I thought the fake surveillance would do it...how much clearer could I have screamed 'watch murphy!'...but nobody was catching on. Meanwhile, Matty was getting a little better, because you were right here in the building...I can get him a little bit, same as I can get you, but he suddenly went bad again....really bad."

"The drugs damped down the link between him and Murphy."

"Yeah, Connor. Which pretty well takes us to now. When Terry got us out, the first thing Maura did was go check him. He seemed ok, so she came back up here to check on you, and help take care of...things. Murphy, when you collapsed, she'd already come back here. Matty...something went, in his head. She went back to get him later, he saw her, and ran from her. She couldn't catch him."

Connor, patience already frayed beyond use, felt the last of it go as Maura walked in, just the sight of her tipping him over.

"Aaaaand now you can't find him."

His voice dripped contempt.

"You bunch of fucking idiots.

He's six years old, in a locked down, secure building with continuous high tech security surveillance systems and an entire resident staff of genius psychics, but he's managed to elude you. You really can’t hold on to people, can you? Logan hid from you. Ira. Now a little kid. Fuck, you even misplaced yourself!"

Too disgusted with them to continue he turned to Murphy, saw him looking at Maura, face twisted into a sneer, something akin to hate in his voice when he spoke.


	46. Momentary shadow

"What the fuck can you even be thinking looking me in the eye right now."

Red flags went up in Connor’s head the second he caught Murphy's tone and expression. Of all of the reactions he'd envisioned when this reunion took place, that sneering, snarling hate hadn't even been the germ of an idea.

"Murphy..."

His tone was careful, cautious, as he tried to take his hand, expecting the familiar entanglement of their fingers...instead feeling his brothers hand yanked from his, his own shoved away.

"Don't touch me. You should've killed her, if you had to kill someone."

His eyes never left her face, hate blown and murderous, flooding Connor with a cold, bright terror, metallic as the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Brother, you..."

"Get out. All of you but her."

"Murphy..."

"Get. Out. If you have the slightest bit of respect left for me, brother, get out."

"Connor, let him be."

Bodhi took his hand, gentle but unshakeable, and pulled. "Come on with me and Terry, this is theirs."

He let himself be led from the room, more for Murphy’s last remark...how could he possibly not respect him?...than the gentle, implacable pull on his hand, but the fear, high in his throat and hard to breathe around, refused to dissipate...if Murphy hurt her he'd never be able to live with himself.

"He won't hurt her, Connor."

Bodhi’s voice was soft, settled, everything about him calm. He wasn't worried. How could he not be?

"Bodhi, he might. I can't..."

"You can. You have to. This isn't yours to deal with. He won't hurt her. Come on, sit down."

"Back here, huh?"

He took it in, the sofa, the corridor, the same place he'd waited that night, it felt like years ago, waiting for Murphy to die, for someone to come out and tell him it was over. Where he'd met Ira.

Too much. All of it.

"I have to go."

He was halfway to the door when he thought of it and turned back, his eyes filled with the same, sudden, dark hate he'd seen in Murphy’s.

"Or are you gonna seal the doors shut so I can't get out?"

"No, Connor. You need to go, go. You're no prisoner, who do you think we are?"

"I don't even know WHAT you are."

He was gone from their sights like smoke, no doors locked against him, and as he stepped out onto the street, daylight fading in the chill of spring twilight, he realized just how long it had been.

He knew they could see him, Donovan’s camera blinking its little red light at the top of his vision.

Not for long.

For a moment, just a man standing in the shadow of the building...then just a shadow, gone into the coming night.


	47. Chapter 47

He couldn't look at her, not for long.

Every second his eyes rested on her seemed to clog his mind, his thoughts becoming sludgy...soul mired in mingled sticky treacle sweet memory and bitter, sour new hate.

They'd been friends for so long, family. Lovers for almost the same...the only person living he'd loved, trusted, as much as he had Connor. The only other person, besides his twin, who lived in his soul, who knew him completely, knew who he'd been, who he'd become and why. The only other person he'd ever let HAVE him...

All of it a lie, a huge deception. If what they'd told him was true...and his heart knew it was...nothing she'd felt had been real.

"How is this kid mine, Maura."

It didn't touch what he felt, wasn't what he meant to say, was just what flew out of him, his will subjugated by whatever inborn program had been running his whole life.

Her tone was acid.

"You know where babies come from, Murphy."

He had to laugh, couldn't stop it...that she had the sheer nerve was too much.

"Oh, fuck you, sweetheart. Answer the question. The last time I saw you was only five years ago. He's six."

"You may have last seen me five years ago, but you'd fucked me for at least ten. Figure it out, genius."

"You'd already had him when...you already had him and you didn't tell me."

"Bingo."

"No. How?! We were always together!"

"Not always."

"When."

"You remember when we went down south?"

He did. He'd kept himself alive replaying those memories...those long, dreaming, too hot to sleep nights. They'd hung mosquito bars from the branches of a sweet olive, safe from the world in a haze of misty white mesh, deep in the overgrown jungle of yard invisible behind an ancient, decayed, abandoned old plantation house...where had they been? New Orleans? Somewhere in Louisiana, somewhere warm, the air an insane mix of sweet olive, jasmine, mud and angel trumpet...they'd read those were hallucinogenic and had made tea from them one simmering night. Nothing psychedelic had happened but they'd both been as sick as dogs, Connor’s derisive laughter at their foolishness making them feel no better...steaming nights surrounded by that white mist, watching the bugs stick in it, feeling powerfully immune to the ravaging little vampires, hot sweaty skin on skin, entire nights of insane, intense lovemaking... kissing, licking, sucking, biting touching touching always touching, sometimes just the two of them, more often the three of them... though she'd never let Connor fuck her, she didn't like him enough and truth be told he felt the same. They’d touched each other only because Murphy loved it when they did, and they loved him... his mouth between her legs, licking and sucking, listening to her little animal moans, Connor’s mouth between his, his own sounds muffled in her.

Nights she'd only watched...she'd loved to watch them, watch them fall apart inside each other, and they'd loved it when she watched...loved it...the sounds of her coming over them bringing them too. And the night she left them. They'd fallen asleep, a tangle of sticky limbs, sweaty hair, spit and cum and salt. She'd awakened him, quietly, kisses and touches somehow deeper, more intense, had pulled him on top of her pulled him in deep. It had been the best sex of his life. He'd slipped deliciously into her, started to thrust and she'd grabbed his ass, hard, pulled him back in and held him there, pushing hard against him, breathing into his ear, "Wait. Wait. Just let me feel you."

She'd only waited a beat, let go, let him pull back, grabbed him again and pulled him in deep, holding him there for that deep, grinding, pressing beat. Over and over and over, a buildup so insane he thought he'd die from it. In memory it had lasted hours until she'd finally grabbed him one final time, pulling him in as hard and tight as she could, grinding against him so hard, so hard...he'd felt her coming around him, had come himself, so hard he'd almost blacked out.

She'd been gone when he woke up, just Connor with him, smoking in the early morning sun.

"The night you left us. So you knew?"

"I didn't know anything. You fell asleep and something in me told me to run. To get as far away from you as I could. Instinct maybe."

"Fuck that. Programming. You never felt a goddamn thing for me, did you. Genetically programmed to love me, right?"

"Hardly. To protect you, maybe. Not to love you. I'd take a bullet for Connor but I can't fucking stand him."

"You still lied to me."

"Never even once."

"You never told me about him."

"You never asked. You didn't even ask where I went."

"No, because all I cared about was that you'd come back! Where was he?"

"Doesn't matter. I knew I couldn't bring him anywhere near you."

"You knew all this back then?"

"No. I didn't. But I knew you'd take off. You'd never let your son be a target. So...I never told you and I kept him as far away as the planet allowed. I didn't want anyone connecting him with you. And if it makes you feel any better, I felt like a selfish, self-serving asshole."

"Good, because that's exactly what you are."

"Probably. But I was there when you got your guts blown out, wasn't I. Goddamn good thing. Hell, maybe it was. It led to all this. People aren't sleeping in abandoned buildings anymore, or walking around like broken zombies who can't fucking die, with burst appendixes and punctured lungs, or half their intestines blown away. Fuck, Murphy...the last thing I expected was for you to look at me now and wish I really was dead."

"I don't. I'm glad you're alive. And you already know I'm gonna do whatever I can to help you find your son. Connor will too. And since your sister...yes, I know, I'm not stupid...made it so I'll have to stay within reach of medical care I can trust...maybe trust...for the rest of my life, you know I won't be going very far away. If that helps save him...well. Good. But once he's found I want nothing to do with you. Nothing. Because I don't believe for one second, not one, that what was done to me was a mistake or just Ira being crazy. She did what you told her to do. You told her to make sure I couldn't...ever...leave. If it's true you can't lie to me, tell me if I'm right."

"I couldn't take the chance."

"You never even GAVE me a chance! Maura. You could have just told me. Don't you know, if you'd told me I would have stayed?"

"I was told you wouldn't"

"Let me guess. The crazy old man in the basement? What'd he tell you. What'd he tell you that could override EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT ME BECAUSE YOU FUCKING KNOW ME! TELL ME!"

"He said you'd never stay. That as long as it was war out there you'd never even come in."

"And you believed him. Well...the war's still going on, dear. And you're a stupid fucking...Jesus fucking Christ."

He felt it cracking, the wall of his resolve, crumbling under the weight of years of guilt and regret, years of missing her, and the vast relief that she was alive, crushing grief at her actions, the new knowledge that somewhere here he had a son who was being driven insane by his existence.

He didn't want to cry in front of her, refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Get out."

"Murphy, I need..."

"I don't care what you need. Get out. Connor killed your sister, and neither of us hated her. You'd do well to listen."

He held on until he was sure she was really gone, and let go.

Connor found him an hour later, head on his knees, hands tangled in his hair, on the verge of cried out, breath hitching in his chest like a little kid who's cried too long and too hard.

He slipped in beside him, barely there before his twins arms were around him, limpet like, desperate, relief at Connor’s presence bringing on a fresh spate of tears, hot and hard, pain settling, branded, behind his eyes.

"Aw Murph...I know."

He held him a little closer, content to wait with him until he pulled himself back together.

With Connor there, it didn't take long, and soon enough he was picking Connor’s pocket for a smoke, lighting it with a grateful sigh.

"I have such a fucking headache. You smell like outside, Conn. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I just walked around. Thought about church, but..."

"Fuck church."

"Yeah. It's gonna be ok, Murphy. While I was out there....I could think a little. I think it'll work out the way it's supposed to."

"I know. I have that, too. Oh but...Conn...I might have told Maura you'd shoot her if she didn't smarten up."

"Did you. Well, you might have told her the truth then, brother, at that. We have to try to find this kid now, then?"

"Fuck no."

"No????"

"We don't need to find him. I already know where he is."


	48. Chapter 48

It made a strange sense, Connor thought, thinking about what Murphy had told him. What better place to hide than someplace you'd been told, all your life, was the most dangerous place in your world? Someplace you were afraid of?

If he was Murphy’s kid he was smart enough...crazy or not... to find the one place nobody would look.

Listening to his brother now, quietly rational, every point utterly reasonable, he found himself considerably impressed.

"Bodhi, he's with Jordan. I'm one hundred percent positive. It was what I said to Maura. 'The war's still going on, dear.' Those weren't my words. I googled them, they're..."

"Song lyrics, I know. It's been in my head for days. But how does that point to Matt being with Jordan? He's terrified of Jordan, he'd never go near him. And what does an old Blue Oyster Cult song have to do with anything?"

"Bodhi. The song is 'Veteran of the Psychic Wars.' You said yourself it may as well be about us. We're hearing it in our heads, all of us, because he's broadcasting it. He's six years old, he's scared, he's going insane, and he doesn't know how to consciously connect with anyone yet. He's subconsciously sending what he's hearing, and he's hearing that song. Who else but Jordan would have that song on repeat 24/7?"

"He's scared of Jordan."

"He ran from his mother. Does that point to rational thinking? You've all been looking for him and he's hiding. It's the best possible hiding place because you won't look there."

"If he doesn't want to be found, why send a message?"

"Bodhi, you said it yourself. Survival. When you came to get us the other night, and changed your mind, when Maura sent you, what was it she wanted us to do?"

"She wanted you to try to link with him."

"To find out where he was?"

"To try to."

"I'm linked with him, Bodhi, and I know where he is. It's not as strong as it should be because I'm clouded by Ira’s drugs, but it's very much there. He's sending so hard we're all three picking him up. He may be hiding, but he doesn't know why. He's only little. He wants to be found. Wherever he is, that song never stops playing. And there's something else."

"What, then."

"Whoever he's with can ride that broadcast. Do you know many people who can do that? I can't do it. Connor can't do it. I've never met anyone who can."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Murphy."

"The other day, me and Connor...were in the middle of something. We were both hearing that song, and then someone else was in my head with me, and it was no six year old. It was someone old, and strong, and furious at what we were doing. They followed what that little boy was sending. Followed it right into my head. Is there anyone other than Jordan who might be able to do that?"

"Not that I can think of, no. So that leaves us with a problem."

"Oh good, another one."

"Jordan hasn't let anyone in since the day the power went out."

"No, he hasn't let any of YOU in. Do I have an actual doctor?"

"Of course you do."

"Can you get him?"

"You ok?"

"I want to know if I'm ok to leave."

"Leave and go where?"

"With Connor."

"Where's HE going?"

Connor, who had moved beyond impressed and well into the realm of awe, leaned forward, trapping Bodhi’s eyes in his.

"I'm taking him to that crazy old man’s place, and we're getting his kid.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You ask me why weary? Why I can't speak to you.  
> You blame me for my silence, say it's time I changed and grew.  
> But the war's still going on, dear, and there's no end that I know.  
> And I can't say if we're ever gonna be free."
> 
> B.O.C.-Veteran of the Psychic Wars

"Are we bringing guns? We can't bring guns, we can't shoot things up if there's a kid down there."

Murphy's nerves had begun to grate as soon as they stepped into the apartment, to scream as he got dressed, and the longer they lingered the louder they got.

"Well what do you think, then, Murph, say please?"

"Maybe. I mean, he's one of the good guys isn't he? Just cause he's crazy doesn't make him bad, does it?"

Connor’s snort of sarcasm didnt.do much for his state of mind.

"Christ I hope not, or we should just pop each other."

Though he hated to think about doing anything without guns, Murphy was right and he knew it.

"Ok. No guns. I know better than to ask this, but what's the plan, Murph?"

"You're funny. We're gonna go get my kid."

"That's it?"

"That's it. But...Conn, I don't even want to have to see him."

He turned away, eyes completely averted, suddenly ashamed of himself.

"If I could just send you I would."

"You can, if you need to."

Connor touched his face, turned it to his. "Murphy, look at me. You can."

"Not and live with myself. It's my fault he exists and it's my fault he's like this."

"Not alone it's not. You didn't snap your fingers and wish him into existence, Murphy. He has a mother. She never told you about him, never gave you half a chance to do anything and she brought him into danger. By the time she came back with him to Boston she knew what she was risking. You didn't. If you have to blame someone, blame her. If you can't do this, I can...Terry will come with me for backup, and it'll be ok."

"I can do it. I just don't want to."

"Well brother...that'd make it business as usual for us, wouldn't you say? Where's Maura, I'd like to know. She's so frantic to get her kid back, but she's not volunteering to go get him."

"Bodhi said she can't go near Jordan. Last time she was down there he promised to blow her head off if he ever saw her again."

"He has guns? Murph..."

"All the more reason not to bring ours. We're just assuming there's gonna be a fight...'

He eyed Connor critically, noting his returning pallor.

"You feeling sick again, Conn?"

"Compazine's wearing off. Ira’s dope..."

"Fuckin junkie..."

"As charged. How come you're not sick?"

"I am, it just doesn't bother me as much. I've gotten kinda used to feeling like boiled ass on my best days. You're too used to feeling good. Can you do this?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Can we just go, then?"

His anxiety hovered at the edge of overload, sapping his patience and his control. If they didn't get going soon he was going to start screaming. 

"Alright. Let's go."

 

By the time the doors opened onto sub-basement three, Connor felt wretched enough to hope the old man would shoot him.

"Christ, Murph...did you feel this bad when I brought you down here?"

"Probably not. Like I said...I'm used to it. You want to stop here?"

"You know where he lives?"

"No."

"Well, then...I'm not stopping here."

"Not that you would anyway. Why is it so dark? It's like a dungeon."

It WAS dark, Connor noted, much darker than it should have been. By evidence of the little glowing security cameras, the power was on...

"Someone shut the lights off."

"Can you turn them back on?"

"I don't know where they are. Come on."

They crept through the dark, what was, in the light, a perfectly normal corridor, sprinkled at intervals with apartment doors, taking on the tones of some freakish nightmare tunnel into blackness. With no windows, the only light seeping from beneath doors, the darkness was absolute. They could hear sounds, creeping through with the light. Televisions, music, an odd, broken conversation interspersed with guttural sobbing, moans, cries, one sudden, senseless, incoherent scream that sent the hairs on the back of Murphy's neck prickling.

"Connor, who lives down here?"

"Broken people. Listen, do you hear it?"

He did. Slipping from deep in the darkness, a strange blend of ethereal keyboards, tribal drums, weary voice indecipherable but they didn't need to hear it…the words had been seared into their brains.

"Murphy, looks like you were right."

Connor’s voice was strained, clipped, and Murphy knew he was close to vomiting. "The next door is his. I have to stop for a minute and let this pass."

"That's ok."

He heard the rustle of cloth against the wall as his brother slid down to sit, and felt his way next to him, feeling him in their typical head on knees, hands in hair position, and slipped an arm around him, hand tracing gentle circles on his back.

"You don't have to wait, Murphy. I'm ok, it's passing. He'll let you in."

"What makes you think so?"

"You're you."

As it was, it was never put to the test. From the shadows down the hall the music suddenly swelled as a door opened, sound and light spilling into the darkness as a shadow broke away, came toward them, an indistinguishable silhouette with the light behind him.

The heard the snick of a safety being released, a gun being cocked, and a voice, gravelly, gruff, but somehow deeply THEM: "Boy, what's wrong with you!"

It was less a query, more an accusation. That voice held no patience.

"Why are you sitting there? Are you waiting to be shot? Who is that!"

Murphy answered for them both, surprisingly not put out at the man’s tone.

"It's Connor and Murphy MacManus. He's sick. Are you..."

"Sweet Jesus! Get inside here, both of you."

Before either could react an arm reached down, seizing Connor and pulling him to his feet as effortlessly as if he were a child.

"Are you both insane?! You can't just sit out here with him somewhere on the loose. Inside. Now."

It seemed a split second, no longer, and they were blinking back tears as brilliant light stung their eyes, the door into the dark hall slamming and locking behind them.

Music, the song they'd been plagued with, surrounded and filled them, and Murphy understood, in that moment, why the old man never turned it off. It became, for one single shining second, the only voice of reason, the only sanity.

The sanity, however, was much too loud and combined with the lights...brighter than any he'd ever seen...he found himself stunned, unable to move.

Unworried, able to tell unerringly that this man was far from an enemy, he shut his eyes, held onto Connor’s arm, and waited.

It was less than a minute before the light dimmed, the volume dropped, and the gruff silhouette before them resolved itself into the visage of a man.

Told he was old, Murphy hadn't expected the scope of age and wisdom standing in front of him, largely intangible, evidenced by the waves of power and knowledge that seemed to radiate from him.

He didn't look, to Murphy’s eyes, much older than their father had, but his soul registered ancient.

"Boy, I'm too old for you to see. What are you doing out there?"

He seemed determined to allow no answer. "What's wrong with him? Why aren't either of you thinking? Where are your minds?"

It wasn't rhetorical, they both understood. He couldn't find much of them in their heads, their essences dulled by Ira’s treachery.

"Ira drugged us."

Murphy was finally allowed a word. "He's sick because he came off them too quick."

"Why'd you let her do it? I expected more from the likes of you. You certainly don't live up to your reputations. Boy, you get sat down before you fall down."

He led them into what seemed, to both of them, a surprisingly ordinary living space, pushing Connor down onto a kitchen chair, gesturing Murphy to do the same.

His gun, cocked and loaded, hung casually at his side, and in minutes they'd become acquainted with his disconcerting habit of gesturing with it.

"You two let that duplicitous stupid bitch drug you into submission. You..."He pointed the gun at Murphy, "you I understand. You get your guts blown up sometimes you don't question what they might give you, but YOU..."

The gun swung to Connor. "When you get yourself back upstairs you check your water filters, your coffee, your aspirin...you check it all! Never use what they provide. Always supply your own. You can't trust them! They want to break you! They blame you, you see."

"For what?"

"Not being able to talk to them. Not changing into the good little house pets they're trying to turn you into. Because you can't be domesticated. It's a terrible affront to them."

His tone went from manic but conversational, suddenly, to dark. Dangerously quiet.

"Murphy. That's your child out there, doing all this."

"Doing all what? We came to find him..."

"Doing WHAT?! Can't you feel it?"

His voice somehow managed to shout in a whisper.

"Pah...of course you can't, your minds are all addled. Did you hear the screams? The sobs? The babble?"

"From inside the rooms, yeah."

"That's your child doing that to them. I keep the music up, it helps redirect him, and of course he's too young and inexperienced to get to me, but the folks down here are already damaged and he's destroying what's left of their sanity. You have to get him out of here. Of course it'll probably kill him, not necessarily a bad thing."

"We don't think it will."

"Boy, you don't know what you're talking about. These kids end up crazy and dead. You should have known better than to make one."

"I know."

It would have felt disgustingly puling and weak to make excuses to this man, and he didn't try, saw the respect for it flash in those ancient eyes.

"We think we can help him, though."

"Oh you do. Tell me about what you think."

They did, in brief, both of them growing more distracted by the second as alternating waves of hopelessness, fear, blinding, suicidal despair and rabid murderous hate began washing over them in waves.

The old man saw it, smiled grimly.

"Ah, you feel it, now, don’t you. Murphy that's your son. He's killing the people down here. The suicides will start, soon, if they haven't already. The murders. Do you still want to save him?"

He held up his gun.

"Or shoot him and save everybody else?"


	50. Chapter 50

"I'm not shooting him."

The resolve came, sudden and solid, and he didn't care what this man, whatever his age and wisdom, thought.

"We don't kill children."

"Not even evil children? Out of control, suicidal, murderous children? Or is it just because he's yours?"

"He's not evil. If anything, he's just another victim."

"You blame his mother. Well, so do I, but that doesn't do the people he's hurting any good, and you certainly don't know how to stop him. If you had access to your whole mind, maybe. MAYBE you'd be strong enough to get in there and grab him..."

"I do that all the time with Connor."

"Could you do it now?"

"I don't know, maybe. But you can."

"Boy, I can't..."

"Yes."

Murphy’s voice had gone quiet, now, as dangerous as Jordan’s.

"He was sending...that song...and you rode him right into my mind and don't you dare say you didn't. If you can do that you can help me reach him."

He knew the old man wouldn't do it, felt the negation before it was voiced, and in that one beat of space he knew he didn't need him.

"Boy, I'm not going anywhere near your child."

"No, you're afraid of him."

Amazingly, it was true, and Murphy found it ludicrous.

"They were right, you don't know who your enemies are anymore. That's fine, we've got this. I thought he was with you...he's where he can hear that song...but you wouldn't let him in, would you? He's just a little kid and you wouldn't let him in."

"And I never will. He's right out there, though. He's roaming those halls like a phantom, dragging suffering along with him. You go on ahead, then, and find your little boy. You go. Both of you. Don't expect my door to open to you again, though, when he comes for you."

Murphy, nodding in grim understanding, stood and took Connor’s hand, pulling him up.

"Come on. We've overstayed our welcome."

Connor, raptly fascinated by every word they'd exchanged, felt a little pang of regret. Crazy though he was, there was wisdom in this man.

"Don't worry, boy. If your brother's everything he thinks he is, you'll be welcomed back."

Connor couldn't suppress his laugh.

"He's more than he thinks he is."

"And you?"

"I know just what I am. Believe it, we live up to our reputations just fine."

They left him there, hearing the music go up again before the door had finished closing.

Connor, feeling no better than he had been, sat back down against the wall, pulling Murphy with him.

"I know what you're gonna do, Murph. You're gonna follow him in like you do me."

"That's what I'm thinking, yeah."

"Can you?"

"If you can help me, maybe. But...something about that."

"What, brother."

"Doesn't feel right. There's some stuff I know for sure. We don't have to go anywhere, he's pacing this corridor....back and forth back and forth back and..."

He felt himself catch in it, shook himself free.

"He's stuck. Lost. Searching. He's gonna come right by us. I'm picking him up, Conn. It's so weird. It's like you, only...me too. It's so fucking weird. He's not doing any of this on purpose, he doesn't know he's hurting people. He's so scared and it's just flying out of him. I don't think he's doing even half what he's being blamed for, either. I can feel what he's sending, it's scary but it's not anything to start killing people over."

"Might be if the people nearby are already damaged. Or we're too fogged in to get the full effect."

"It could maybe be that, I guess it could...I need you to think for me, Connor. I'm going on my gut, my brain's not helping me. This kids too much like me, he's shorting out my thinking pushing me into all feel. I want to go in after him, but...I shouldn't and there's a reason why...only I can't think of it. Or think what to do instead. It's close to that, though."

He leaned into Connor, suddenly exhausted, and in a breath the two of them entwined, heads together, limbs entangled, shoring each other up.

"Murphy...there's not much to think about. He's little and lost and scared and crazy. If you go after him, either on foot or in his head, he'll run. But he's looking for help. Don't you think...if we just stay here and wait...when he gets close enough...show him you're here and let him come to you."

"Think he will?"

"You're you. Who doesn't? If you can reach me, when I'm down in that void....I'm just your brother. He's your son, Murphy. He's part of you, body and soul. If you can reach me, you can reach him."

"I go in after you."

"But you don't have to. You just get too scared to wait for me to notice you. If you could wait, I would. Every time, even when I don't want to. This time, with him, you'll have to wait. And you might have to try a few times. Or a million times. But you'll do it, and I'll help you as much as I can."

"He's already close enough."

"Then, brother, let him know you're here."

"How?"

He laughed, bitter irony setting off the bizarre humor he always seemed to find just when he didn't need it.

"Want to make me a sign? Post some directions? How am I supposed to do that? Reach into his head at not even half power? Run after him? How am I supposed to not scare him?"

Connor, who knew that wasn't the problem at all, fought his first and strongest instinct...to hang on, comfort and sooth. That, and he hated to admit it, was exactly the opposite of what his brother needed.  
Steeling himself, knowing it would hurt, he disentangled himself...gently but deliberately...and pushed Murphy away.

"You're not afraid of scaring him, Murphy."

Still gentle, there was nonetheless more than a little of the saint in Connor’s voice.

"You're afraid of him. NOT that he'll hurt you, you're not afraid of what he can do. You're afraid of who he is. You're afraid to look at him. You're afraid to see him. You're afraid to see that he's yours and that's just too goddamn bad, Murphy, you already know he's yours, nobody else could feel that much like you. So get up off me, pull your shit together, man the fuck up and go."

"Connor..."

"His mother's no help. He's yours, you made him, and right now you're all he's got. Murphy."

"What."

"Just do it."


	51. Chapter 51

As had happened so often, of late, just do it turned out literal, with no attention given over to weird bloodlines, strange physical attributes, or bizarre mental abilities.

As with Connor, who had simply, brashly...all the more human for it... done what needed to be done with no time for thought, so with Murphy, who'd rapidly lost patience with just sitting in the dark, waiting...his anxiety, apprehension and trepidation making him feel as if he were sitting in a nest of live wires.

Sick of waiting, sick of Jordan's song, blaring through the halls in endless repetition, sick of the dark, and well beyond sick of himself, he climbed to his feet, mumbled something completely unintelligible but clearly meant to be reassuring, and headed down the hall.

He'd had enough.

His goal, at this moment, not to hunt down his son, supposedly roaming the halls like some horrific phantasmagoric freak, dragging chains of suicide and murder behind him...an idea Murphy found more and more absurd with each repass of the thought...but to find the damn light switch.

Wandering pitch black halls in what was essentially an informal basement psychiatric ward in no way helped dispel the horror movie feel that permeated his mind and his space. That said, it was doubtful it was doing anybody else much good, either.

The first solution to this whole mess, as far as he was concerned, was to shed some light, literally, on the situation.

His mind, brooding as always, insisted on rerunning the whole mess in a steady, unending loop.

Jordan, wise yes, but without a doubt no longer rational, had scared them, feeding his atmosphere of horror directly into their brains, and Murphy had no doubt it had been deliberate. 

Control was clearly his thing.

He'd probably been right about their resistance to domestication being an affront, and he was certainly right about Matthew broadcasting his fear and confusion, though he was quite mistaken, Murphy knew…or deliberately exaggerating...about the scope of his reach.

Murphy, the dulling effects of the imipramine clearing his system steadily, had been picking the kid up, with ever increasing intensity, for hours, and he'd know immediately when he'd hit his maximum range and effect.

He just wasn't that strong, in fact, was not much different than Murphy was, himself.

Sure, he was flavoring the atmosphere with a little more fear, a little more confusion, but it wasn't even touching the vast insanity that already filled this place.

Those screams and moans, if not already the norm down here, weren't being caused by any six year old empath. If anyone was heightening the freak-out load down here, it was Jordan himself.

Meanwhile, he still hadn't found the damned light switch.

Feeling a little stupid, he pulled out his phone, a grin of genuine amusement and relief crossing his face at Connor’s

"Murph. Really? Are you calling me from down the hall?"

"Connor, I know you said you didn't know, but where would you THINK they'd keep the lights?"

"Probably by the stairs or the elevators."

"You ok?"

"Yeah. Why am I just sitting here while you roam around, Murphy?"

"Because I can't sit still and you feel like ass."

"Fair enough. If he comes by me I'll try to stop him."

"He'll go to you. He's freaked and you're blood. Probably if you say his name and keep still and he won't take off."

He hesitated a little, thinking about it.

"But if he does, try to herd him my way."

He realized, as he slipped the phone back in his pocket, that these mundane, ordinary little tasks...looking for the lights, making a call, putting the phone away...were dispelling the overall sense of nightmare unreality.

The dark, haunted byway had become a hall with the lights turned off.

The grim specter of despair, roaming the halls like some bizarre reaper...nothing but a scared, confused little kid.

And himself...eaten up with apprehension, really only afraid of what it would feel like to see his son...how in hell could it be that he had a son... for the first time.

He didn't realize, intent on locating the lights, that he was only a few seconds from finding out.

It had seemed to him, more and more frequently, that his life was made entirely of enormous buildups...with no payoff. A series of anticlimax, after anticlimax, the continual sense of being on the edge...staring into a bottomless precipice, holding on for dear life...falling in anyway only to find the drop a mere few inches.

This no different, every nightmarish scenario his mind could concoct to stress him out fell into dust as his fingers, groping along the wall, feeling their way through the blackness, finally found the light switches, and flipped them all on at once.

The light too bright, he shut his eyes against it, hearing a soft hiss of discomfort as someone close by did the same, and felt his heart come up in his throat.

The last thing in the world he wanted to do, in a life comprised for the most part specifically of things he didn't want to do, was open his eyes.

It came again, that non humor that insisted on assaulting him whenever life became ludicrous.  
Here he'd been, groping in the dark for the lights...presumably to be able to actually see the person he was looking for... only to stand here with his eyes closed.

Sighing, thinking himself a fine example of idiocy, he made himself look, steeled for what he really didn't know.

As it turned out...he didn't have much to worry about.

The kid standing in front of him, in almost exactly the same posture of squinting apprehension, was...after all this...just a kid.

He could have been anyone.

Small for his age, utterly nondescript but for a disturbingly ragged look of homelessness about him, he looked up at Murphy with tired, suspicious eyes, still wincing in the sudden bright light, a look of mild reproach on his face.

He allowed Murphy all of six seconds to come to grips before he sighed, shook his head, pointed up at the corner of the ceiling and spoke...very softly, very clearly, and very slowly, as if Murphy might just be too dim to understand.

"If you put the lights on, she can see me."

Murphy looked where he was pointing, saw the little blink of the security camera.

"Who can see you?"

"My mom. Who're you?"

"I'm Murphy."

He continued to stare at the camera, a dreamy fascination Murphy found unnerving in its bizarre, vague intensity.

"You want the lights out?"

The boy nodded, apprehension rapidly giving way to fear Murphy could feel running in his own veins.

"Promise me you won't take off."

Another silent nod, and Murphy...hoping against it but fully expecting the kid to bolt the second it was dark...flipped the lights back off...only to feel a small hand link with his, tiny fingers lacing with his own, the gesture heartbreakingly familiar.

He felt himself responding automatically, exactly as if it had been Connor, and knew beyond any doubt that this child was family.

Family. Blood. His blood.

He felt the panic building, the little hand holding his practically thrumming with it, his whole small being consumed with the need to run, to hide. Not paranoia, not psychosis...this fear was real and very clearly defined. The lights had gone on. He'd been seen. By his mother.

It was Maura he was afraid of.

His fear was contagious, and Murphy felt himself tugging on that small hand.

"Will you come with me?"

"Not to her."

"No, not to her. To Connor."

He felt it happen...his mind immediately, finally, settling into its familiar groove, slotting into Connor’s with a nearly audible click...knew Connor shared his sudden relief...and felt Matthews hand relax in his.

No need to explain who Connor was...because Murphy knew, so did Matthew.

"Come on..."

They spoke not at all, passing through the halls, silent as oiled smoke.

The hall wasn't long, but to Murphy it took him a million unasked questions to finally reach his brother...questions with no answering knowledge passed into him... as his knowledge of Connor had passed to his son.

Either the boy wasn’t picking them up, didn’t know how to reciprocate, or was choosing not to. He didn't know, knew better than to ask...silence down here seeming to be imperative.

It was as they rounded the final corner that they saw the light, small but intense...Connor had turned on his phone light so they could find him, and Murphy once again blessed his brother’s clear thinking. He himself wouldn't have thought of it.

His relief existed mere moments as he caught the unmistakable sound of retching.

"Oh...Connor..."

Instinctively keeping his voice low, something warning him that to be overheard now could be lethal, he could tell Connor felt it too, struggling to make as little sound as possible even as his body wrested control from him.

The next seconds were a blur.

He felt his son’s hand slip from his, heard the sound of quick, soft footsteps, thought he'd fled...and saw Connor’s light suddenly, momentarily blocked, felt a wave of sympathy, directed at Connor...spilling into him...and finally stepped in close enough to see the boy, close against his brother, one little arm around his shoulders, the other little hand in his hair...so like both of them...holding on.

He looked up at Murphy as he drew near, sadness and sympathy mixing with the lethal exhaustion etched into that little face, tired blue eyes linking with his as he knelt down on Connor other side, slipping his own arm around him, waiting it out.

And just like that, they were THEY, and they were three.


	52. Chapter 52

The screams woke him, though for a minute or two he thought it was a dream, leftover phantasms from that terrible prison of a basement.

It wasn't until he heard Connor’s voice, mingled in among them and yelling his name, that he realized they were real. 

The high pitched, throat ripping shrieks of some creature in mortal agony, something dying as painfully as the universe allowed.

He was already on his feet when Bodhi ran into his room, grabbing his arm without ceremony, flinging him into the hall, screaming at him as if he were somehow to blame.

"Go! Hurry the fuck up! You need to fucking see this!"

He understood the anger....the entire day, since they'd called Collin to unlock the exit doors and let them out, had been one long, hateful, hurtful screaming fight.

About Maura, Matthew, the prison of sublevel three and how and why that little boy had been there...and for how long...who had known about it, who had been watching and why... about the twins conviction that they were still, despite what anyone said, being lied to at every opportunity.

There had been no resolution, no conclusion...Murphy, with his unerring ability to push peoples buttons, had finally said something...and he no longer remembered what...that had caused even unperturbable Donovan to lose his temper and throw them out.

They'd gone...without Matthew...back to their place only to be joined several hours later by Bodhi, child in tow, only the angry, cryptic...

"You won't believe us until you see it for yourself, and he doesn't deserve to suffer any more pain than he has to."

He'd insisted on staying and they'd been too tired to argue. 

That didn't explain the chaos he was hearing now, didn't explain the agonized screams that he realized, as his brain came back online, were coming from his child.

He didn't have time to think, to feel...thrust into a waking nightmare he reverted to instinct, joined with Connor, neither quite understanding what they were seeing... Bodhi’s angry shouting doing nothing to clarify the situation....staring, frozen in confusion and horror at the child, who now appeared to be in hell.

They'd given him pillows and blankets, settling him onto the sofa with the TV remote, sitting up with him until his suspicion gave way to exhaustion and he slept.

They'd left him...just a tired little boy... asleep... buried in blankets, peaceful.

There was nothing peaceful about him now.

Trapped, shrieking, between the sofa and the table, where he'd been flung in the first moments of whatever this was, he appeared to have been taken apart, limbs in an impossible tangle, bent somehow backward, the back of his head touching his feet.

Neither of them was even aware they'd moved, one moment watching from the doorway, the next Connor flinging aside the table, Murphy attempting to pick up the child, whose body seemed both iron hard, and completely disconnected from itself, muscles moving under the skin as if possessed of their own consciousness.

It wasn't until their eyes locked, both terrified and tear filled, that Murphy realized his son was awake...awake, aware, and suffering every horrendous, gripping spasm, that it wasn't some terrible nightmare, or unconscious seizure he couldn't really feel. 

Contact seemed to end it...by no means quickly, though the intensity let up almost at once, Bodhi watching from the doorway, making no move to help, observing in silence as the writhing, twisting limbs quieted to twitches, as the screams tapered into sobs, moving in as if by some unspoken symbol, bowl in hand as the little boy looked up him, choked out "Bodhi...I'm sick" and began to vomit.

He held the bowl, let Murphy hold his son, eyes accusing...judging.

"Still think we're lying, Murphy?"

His voice was soft, but his anger rang clear.

"When this passes, I'll show you the rest, and you had better not so much as blink. Matty, you ok now? Can I take this?"

He passed the bowl to Connor and picked the boy from Murphy’s arms, ignoring him, talking only to Matthew.

"This'll hurt, Matty, honey, you ready?"

He waited for the tearful nod, finally addressing Murphy again.

"His shoulders are dislocated. We've all learned how to put them back in. Sometimes it's his hands, too...knees...whatever gets pulled too badly. It hurts almost as much to put them back in place as what just happened, but he doesn't ever complain. I swear to God, if you look away...."

He was quick, and he was right. The little face went white, but he didn't make a sound, in fact seemed to be, impossibly, drifting off again.

"Don't get too relaxed, either one of you. This could be over, or things could get even weirder. Maybe with you here he'll just be able to sleep. We'll give him a few minutes."

It seemed to Murphy, watching what looked like snakes wriggling under the child’s skin, that things would almost certainly get worse, but the odd movements quieted, and soon enough Bodhi nodded and gestured to them to follow.

He brought them into the kitchen, sat himself with a clear sightline to Matthew, and gestured to the open laptop on the table.

"I'm going to explain. Neither one of you wants to so much as mumble at me, am I clear? I'm so sick of your judgments and your accusations....What you just saw...which, by the way, was extremely short and mild by comparison...is what kills these kids. Because he's actually WITH you, it only lasted a few minutes. We don't know why it makes a difference or how it works.

I’m watching him, still, because sometimes after one of these...things....he'll get up and do something. That's happened less and less since you got here, so maybe not.

There's no medical intervention that stops those attacks, sedation doesn't touch them.

We've done scans....there are millions of little bleeds going on in his brain. They were big...now they seem to be pinpricks...they seem to cause these...seizures. As you saw, he's fully conscious for the whole thing.

When they first started they were quick little things Maura thought were nightmares. They started a few days after the two of you came back to Boston. Gradually, though, they turned into what I'm about to show you. He was in the hospital for six weeks. During that time he was under constant video surveillance. This is six weeks of escalating attacks. It's time lapsed, the whole thing won't take an hour. I want you to note the time each of these things lasts."

He watched Murphy, fighting the welling sympathy he felt...god knew, none of this was Murphy’s fault...but he had to make him see.

It hadn’t been ten minutes when Murphy’s hand flew to cover his mouth, eyes wide and horrified, reaching out for Connor with his other hand.

Bodhi, who understood completely, forced himself to stay distant.

"You saw the time. It stayed like this for weeks. These things would last hours, and he'd get almost no break in between. If you look at his face you can see he'd started to stroke out. That didn’t stop this type of thing, though."

He skipped the file ahead.

"Watch."

"Bodhi, I..."

"You'll fucking watch. If he can go through it, and he's only six years old, you can watch. Murphy, I know this isn't your fault, but you have to understand."

He clicked a key, and Murphy watched. Watched as his son screamed in pain for hours, watched him get up, arms and legs buckling, barely in place, stagger to the window, climb onto the sill and wind the cord from the window blind around his throat...cruelly tight...and step off.

It served only to pull the blinds from the window, but the intention was clear enough.

Watched him biting, deep into the flesh of his arms, hands, fingers, lips.

"That's midbrain damage, Murphy. Like kids with Lesch-Nyhan...you probably don't know what that is. It doesn't matter. What matters is he was dying, horribly and slowly and painfully. When he was able to speak he thought Maura was trying to poison him, thought we weren't really us...he was terrified all the time.

"THIS was what pushed Ira and Logan to want the two of you anywhere but here. A lot of people thought.it might be...reversible...if you left again. Can you see why they were desperate, Murphy? WE knew the only chance he had was bringing you closer...again...I don't understand why proximity triggers it but also seems to cure it. We don’t know.... but not everyone thought it would work. We brought you in, anyway, and if you keep watching you'll see it diminished."

He let them watch, by now Murphy had both hands clapped over his mouth, trying not to cry out or vomit, Bodhi didn't know. Maybe both. Connor had slid his chair as close to Murphy as he could arms tight around him. His eyes, however, weren't on his brother, or the screen, but on the sleeping child in the living room, filled with sympathy.

"This..."

He clicked another key, "is after you'd been here a couple of weeks. He'd actually healed, look at his face. The seizures were only coming every few days and were steadily decreasing. He'd stopped hurting himself. But as you got sicker, Murphy, as you started to die...so did he. It all came back again. It was proof. For him to live, you had to be here. And alive."

He clicked off the file.

"There's no more footage. We thought we would lose both of you, and people went a little crazy. Nobody was listening to anybody, everyone was just doing whatever they could to save whoever they could. Now...how he is...I don't know, because this is the first time I've seen him since Logan locked me up. I knew a seizure was coming, though. We can tell, now. He gets paranoid, first. And you...you were damn well going to see it."


	53. Chapter 53

Bodhi, by no means ignorant of people in general, and well-schooled in Murphy, wasn't in the least surprised that it was Connor who, when he was sure Bodhi had finished his horror story, had gone into the living room, gently moved Matthew over and stretched out beside him, snuggling the little boy in his arms, and not Murphy.

Murphy hadn't even glanced into the room, and though he thought it unlikely...he had too much integrity... it wouldn't have shocked Bodhi much if he'd left the apartment altogether.

He didn't...but his restlessness was clear. Already reticent about the idea of having fathered a child, the knowledge that he'd nearly killed him wasn't resting well. It was all about guilt, Bodhi knew, and not for the first time he wondered if Murphy really felt anything real....anything that didn’t come down to himself... for anyone other than Connor. From what he'd seen, Murphy was as weirdly sociopathic as someone who lived through emotion could possibly be. Seeing what Matty had gone through had horrified him...but not because he felt for his son, no, Bodhi didn't think so. It was guilt, guilt at what he felt he'd caused, guilt and regret for himself. All his own. The thought of comforting his child had never crossed his mind.

Connor, supposedly the less emotional of the two, bleeding inside for Matty...had gone in there because offering whatever comfort he had was the only thing he could do for him and he didn't have it in him to do nothing. He couldn't stop his suffering, but he'd make sure he wasn't alone.

It seemed clear...but something about it nagged at him, as if there was a flaw somewhere he just wasn’t seeing. It almost seemed to him that this man sitting across from him, this particular version of Murphy, wasn't the real deal. That the Murphy who had come to them would have, without a thought, sacrificed every bit of himself to spare that child’s suffering, that being who he was to the last spec of his soul.

All this Murphy wanted to do was run, and Bodhi had the uneasy thought that perhaps that was a change they'd caused.

His earlier anger...sparked by Murphy's judgmental, suspicious, accusatory attitude...had faded in the face of the broken man he saw sitting before him, and for the first time he felt his own actions too extreme...unjustified...hateful for the sake of it. Somewhere...too deep inside for him to recognize it for what it was...he knew he was looking at someone traumatized far beyond what sanity would allow. That they'd broken him completely.

His conscience wouldn't let him see it, registering only a vague, guilty sympathy.

"Murphy, will you talk to me?"

Murphy's eyes flicked up to his, didn't linger.

"There's nothing to talk about. I think you pretty much said all there was to say with that."

"I know there were things you wanted to know..."

"You feeling guilty, Bodhi? That why you want to keep me talking? There WERE things I wanted to know, but they don't matter anymore. Why he was down there, why he's afraid of Maura, why you all lie so much, why you...none of you...couldn’t just tell me when I got here, why you had to manipulate me, and maim me and make me unable to leave. Why you didn't trust me to care enough about a little boy’s life...mine or not...to stay if that was what I needed to do. I did need to know those things. But I don't care anymore. They're irrelevant.

I'll stay. I don't have a choice, you took that. And Connor won't ever leave now. He already loves him."

"And you?"

"Me. No. I think he's a freak show. But if I leave he dies, right? I guess that gives me a weapon, doesn't it. I leave...he dies. And none of you want that. You thought it was yours. Your weapon. I leave, I die. But here's the thing, Bodhi. I don't give a damn if I die. I don't even exist anymore. "

Bodhi felt his anger returning.

"Spare me the self-pity, Murphy."

"Oh, is that what you think it is? That's fine. You keep on thinking that. And don't worry. Connor won't let me go anywhere."

"Murphy..."

"What."

"Are you really gonna make this about you?"

"It's not about me, Bodhi. It never was. Why don't you leave, yeah? Don't worry. If he goes off again we won't let him throw himself out the window or anything. And you can tell his mother where he is."

"What happened to your promise to him not to tell her?"

"You say she's blameless. Tell her if you want to. Stay or go, whatever you want. But...don't expect me to sit here and look at you."

He got up, then, and left him there, crossing through the living room to get to his own, stopping for a moment to look down at his sleeping brother and son, face expressionless...impassive...waiting to feel something.

Nothing came.

Not even guilt.

He left them there, lost in his strange, cold neutrality. Left them there and went into his own room, thinking for a minute how much better he'd felt when he'd thought these people dead. Their imagined blood on his hands hadn't been half the problem he'd thought it was.

As he undressed and climbed into his bed…alone...he thought, for the first time, how much he wished Bodhi...and Maura, but Bodhi first and foremost...had died.

He lay there, watching the shadows of the tree outside, breaking and flashing in car headlights, splashed across his ceiling.

He didn't think.

He didn't feel.

He didn't sleep.


	54. Chapter 54

"Where does he go?"

"I don't know. He doesn't tell me. He doesn’t talk to me at all."

"Not even to you?"

"Not even to me."

He left the house almost as soon as his eyes opened...forcing down a few sips of coffee, grabbing his phone and smokes and heading into the streets. He couldn't stand the sight of any of them.

"He's still sleeping alone?"

"Yeah. If I try to sleep with him he just gets up."

Not that he much slept. His dreams sent him screaming into madness and he avoided sleep as much as possible.

"He's too withdrawn."

"I know! Do you think I don't know!"

He knew they were worried...didn't care. They could think him withdrawn if it gave them a focus that left him alone. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t interested in them.

"You know he's still sick..."

"I know."

He complied with every medical direction they'd concocted to keep him going, to combat the inevitable weight loss and fatigue that had come with the removal of the intravenous feeds. He dutifully reported any pain or discomfort...there was plenty...and kept every appointment, swallowed every concoction, took every suggestion.

Ira, though, had been thorough. It hurt to eat, regardless of his complete compliance, most of what he got down wasn't absorbed, and he was constantly, ragingly thirsty...able to drink only in tiny sips, any volume of liquid causing almost instantaneous vomiting.

He wasn't sick...this was just his new normal.

"He needs to be around, he's keeping Matt alive."

"He always comes back. Always."

"He needs to be reachable."

"His phone's always on."

While he had no contact with his son at all, he made sure he was in proximity...always returning immediately if he got a call that the boy was declining in any way. He wouldn't let him suffer, wouldn't let him die. He knew they wanted more, wanted him to BE there, to bond with him. He didn't much care what they wanted. He was already doing more than they ever had, more than they'd ever thought of, though he hadn't bothered to tell them...not even Connor.

In that, he was still and always the same Murphy he'd always been....Connor loved the kid...loved him like his own, and the thought that he could...realistically speaking probably would...still die was excruciating for him.

Murphy, doing everything in his power to prevent it, wasn't about to pass that information on to Connor until he knew he had something viable. He wasn’t about to get his hopes up for nothing.

And so, he got up most mornings, forced down enough coffee to turn his brain on, grabbed his smokes, his phone, his meds, his keys, the driver’s license and credit cards he'd been given on arrival...in the painfully ordinary name of David Marshall...and lord how hard it had been to teach himself to respond to that... sometimes he still slipped, and he knew there was at least one man who'd noticed, though he'd chosen not to mention it...and the little vial of Matthews hair he'd clipped one night, unknown to them all, and headed into the city and to the only people he felt might be able to help.

They were, at that point, the only people who mattered.

If he'd known just how hard they would force his hand, he might have been more willing to let it go...to accept the tenuous and temporary fix his presence provided. Might have just stayed and waited and hoped for a miracle.

His trust in miracles nil, he'd gone active....starting in libraries....where nobody cared what he was researching, moving into labs and research centers, haranguing scientists, geneticists, endocrinologists....students and experts alike...the nature of his inquiry too fascinating for them to resist, as he'd known it would be.

They'd wanted information....he'd given it along with what seemed to him gallons of his blood, spit, semen, hair.

They'd wanted Matty’s DNA, he'd brought them hair, nail clippings...and it had all been enough, had all been plenty... until today.

Today they'd asked for blood.

Had he known what that request would cost him...perhaps only in terms of humanity...he'd have refused.

He hadn't known.

He'd simply gone home and asked Elena to draw some blood for him, telling her...truthfully...that he had a doctor working on Matthews’s condition.

He hadn't counted on her going to Maura, or on Maura’s complete refusal to allow it...unrelenting no matter what he said.

He hadn't counted on being forced into a brutality that pushed his sanity to the brink, pushed his brother, for the first time in their lives, completely against him.

Hadn't counted on it. Hadn't begun to conceive of what he'd be pushed to...what he'd be capable of.

In the end, though...he did it anyway.


	55. Chapter 55

"How can you say no? Maura, he's in pain…all the time. Not just when I'm gone, all the time. These people think they know what it is, they think they might be able to help him. Look..."

He pushed it at her again...the thick paper folder containing the hard copies of every test they’d run on both himself, and on Matthew....and again she pushed it away.

"Forget it Murphy, I'm not interested in your witch doctors."

"WITCH doctors! Maura, these guys are part of Boston University. Cambridge. They're the..."

"Forget it. You're not bringing them blood samples. Or anything else."

Baffled, he'd been reduced to repeating the same reasons, an unending cycle of futility, as she seemed determined to hear none of it.

"Murphy, we already know what it is, and he was in the hospital for six weeks...don't you think if there was any help..."

"No. I don't, do you know why?"

"I’m sure you're about to tell me."

"Because the doctors here are YOUR doctors. You guys got into all these theories about weird bloodlines and blood ties, you found some crazy stories about the kids and you fit whatever Matty has wrong with him right into it. You never had them look for anything else, you had them try to confirm those crazy stories you already believed and of course they did it! These guys, Maura...they agree it's genetic, but it'd a known problem with known treatments! They just need to test..."

"No. Murphy, he doesn't need tests. He needs you. When you're here..."

"It's not me making him better any more than it was me who made him sick! The only possible reason he gets better when I'm around is because you've convinced him he will."

"So it's all in his head?"

"No! It's in his body, and eventually it'll kill him. If he gets better around me it's because he thinks he will, his stress level goes down, and it backs off...a little. It's not my bloodline. It's not me being here. Those are all crazy stories! Maura, maybe we can help him, help...."

"Help you get out? That's all this is about, Murphy. You're looking for an escape clause. A way to take off. Is it that bad to be here?"

"What?! No! That's got nothing to do with..."

"You know it does. You don't want to have to stay with him."

"It's not about me!"

"Of course it is. It's entirely about you. And you know it. This isn't about helping him, you have nothing to do with him! You don't see him, or speak to him...but now you found something that can get you away from him and you're all about it. Forget it, Murphy." 

He found himself marveling at it, a little. The depth of it. The incredible, sheer deluded DEPTH of it.

In truth, the thought of leaving hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd known, even before Ira’s added damage had been discovered, and before any of this delightful new drama, that his life as one of the infamous saints was over. No, he hadn't been able to eliminate that part of who he was, but he'd long since stopped feeling he needed to. With myriad methods to do what he and Connor did best...getting rid of the scumbags making life hell on everyone...running around the streets with a gun, even without a bellyful of scars tying his guts shut, seemed painfully impractical, inefficient and woefully outdated. With Connor solidly niched into the data stream, able to pinpoint potential problems almost at a glance, and he himself needled into the emotional tides that ran the vast majority of people out there, they no longer needed to be the hands and guns on the streets to be effective.

They wouldn't have been likely to go back to the old way even if he'd been well....but he wasn't, and never would be again.

They weren't going anywhere.

Was this sad, crazy bitch so wrapped up in bullshit she'd failed, somehow, to notice that?

He thought she had, and found it marvelous in a truly terrible way.

If she was this obsessed with keeping him here, there would be no talking to her.

But he had to get blood samples...samples they needed to see if his muscles were breaking down and damaging his kidneys with muscle cells, to see if his blood clotting was affected, causing all those pinpoint bleeds in his brain...to see if he was getting any medications that would indicate that she knew...and ....my god, of course... that was what she was afraid of.

She knew. And she had to make sure nobody else did.

It came to him...a thunderclap of epic proportions...and for a minute it almost took him down.

He knew exactly what he had to do...and just precisely how awful...how unconscionable...it really was.

He felt Connor in the back of his head...of course he'd caught it...trip tapping the inside of his brain in outraged horror.

Well...never mind Connor’s disapproval. Never mind his own. Never mind that he was mentally sanctioning torture to force her hand.

She'd done the same, hadn't she?

He found the justification abhorrent, shook it off, and looked her in the eye.

"Last chance, Maura. Let me try to help him."

"Under no circumstances are you taking his blood, Murphy."

"Ok."

He nodded, as if it were reasonable, and headed for the door...hurrying now because Connor was on his way and he was NOT condoning this.

"I'm out. I'll keep my phone on, Maura. I'm not coming back until you give me the blood."

"I'm not doing it. And you know you have to come back regardless. You don't have a choice."

"Oh yes. I do. When you can't take his screams anymore...call me. Agree to let me have him tested and I'll be here.  
Otherwise...you won't be seeing me."

"Murphy! You just said he could die! Are you really leaving anyway?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing."

He was halfway to the door, doing his best to ignore Maura’s alternating put downs....he was all empty threats, he'd never let a child suffer....and threats, when Connor cut him off.

 

"You can't do it, brother! You can't! What happened to not bartering children?"

Murphy'd managed to get him out onto the street, away from Maura, perhaps...he hoped... into a different perspective.

"I'll not barter one for my life, Connor, but I might have to for his! Do you really think she'll let him suffer?"

"Yes! Murphy! She'll let him die, do y'not see it? You're right, brother, she doesn't want to risk you going for good, if there's a cure, she doesn't want it."

"There's no cure, not if it's what they think. I think...he's all kinds of better when I'm around because she's treating it. She knows what it is. When I leave....I think she stops and it triggers these things. I come back, she doses him up AND he relaxes because he's convinced I'll make it stop...the combination stops it. Read this stuff...I tried to give it to her but she wouldn't take it."

"And what if it’s not whatever you think? What if you put him through hell and then there's nothing?"

"Then at least someone tried. But make no mistake...if anyone puts him through hell it's HER, Connor. I'm not asking her to do anything weird...I have..."

"I know what you've got, Murphy. I know what you want is reasonable. But she's not. You can't do it this way. The two of you are gonna make him the prize in this tug of war...if there's anything left the winner takes it?"

"It's not like that."

"That's exactly what it is, Murphy."

"Connor. He's dying. You want me to just give up? If he's gonna have any chance at all, they need blood. She won't give it to me. So here's her choice, Connor. She can choose to give her son a chance....or sacrifice him to her own selfishness. If she loves him at all, she'll never let it get beyond a twinge."

"If you love him, neither will you."

"Connor. I don't."

"You're lying to yourself if you believe that."

"Think what you want. But I'm not coming back until she agrees. If it's really something freaky about our bloodline...if she's not just poisoning him to carry out some big deception or denying him meds he's supposed to get ...stay near him. You're my brother, we're all three blood. Whatever’s in my blood is in yours. If mine really helps him, so will yours. If it's not..."

"If it's not or if it is, brother....if you let him die..."

"ME?? If he dies...she let him."

"You're leaving, knowing that...one way or another...that little boy is gonna be tortured! You're letting him be hurt, deliberately, to get what you want."

"You gonna kill me, Conn? Better to put it like this. Whether you agree to it or not, I'm leavin it up to you, BROTHER, to make sure she doesn't kill him. Read this. I mean it. If it gets bad... get him away from her however you have to and call me."

"You want to see what she'll do, don’t you? This is as much about testing her as it is him. You're in very dangerous water, right now. If we were..."

"I know. Shoot me if you think you have to....but if you do, you better pray it's what's in this file. Bye, Connor."


	56. Chapter 56

"Ok, Murphy, you're clear on the alley. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Just unlock the door."

Donovan, sighing a little in frustrated resignation, keyed open the lock.

After Murphy's standoff yesterday he'd been the last person he'd expected to hear from, and he hadn't been pleased about it.

Though he agreed, at least in theory, that Murphy was on to something, the fact remained...when he was absent Matthew was in terrible, debilitating, life threatening pain. When he was around...it didn't stop, certainly, but it was less. For whatever reason. To deliberately remove himself...

The call had been an unpleasant surprise, the request for covert entry as mystifying as it was onerous.

Unless he was here to sneak in and steal blood like a vampire there was nothing more he needed. Terry had already given him every bit of Matthews’s medical data weeks ago.

Sighing again as his phone buzzed, he picked it up.

"Go ahead, Murphy."

"Who's he with?"

He knew it wasn't Maura. Matthews aversion to her ran unchecked...seemingly a red flag to nobody but him no matter how he harped at them about it. Matthew barely tolerated her for the few hours a day she insisted on, flatly refused to sleep anywhere near her, and it baffled Murphy that nobody found it weird. Truth be told they likely did, but nobody was about to side with Murphy on anything.

They were all too busy judging his lack of interaction with the kid.

Lost in thought, he realized he'd missed Donovan’s answer.

"Sorry, Donny, what?"

"Jesus Christ."

Great, another checkmark in the many ways he now sucked.

"He's with Connor. Murphy, if you go home he's gonna beat the fuck outta you."

"Yeah, well, he'll have to know I'm there, then, won't he."

"Well aren't you two joined at the brain?"

"Only when we want to be. I found out some stuff about that, Donny! There's..."

"Are you taking his blood, Murphy? Is that why you're here?"

Donovan’s abrupt cutoff stung, but he let it go. He didn't much care for himself right at the moment, he couldn’t expect more from anyone else. They were, after all, justified.

"No, Donny, I don't know how. It doesn't matter why I'm here. What matters is nobody but you knows it. So just keep shut."

He hadn't intended to tell him anything else. Until he heard himself speaking he hadn't known he was going to, wasn't sure why he did. Maybe just so someone would know he wasn't a complete monster.

"And keep in mind, Donovan, while you're busy hating my guts I'm not gonna be more than a few feet away from him. Understand? I'm not leaving the building."

"Murphy...you can't use him to bait a trap."

The response was unexpected and he felt his temper start to take off.

"Why not?! Donny, why the fuck not? If you trust her so much then she's right, and as long as I'm here he'll be fine. I'll know it's legitimate, this shit you all believe, he won't be in any pain, and I'll not only stand corrected but I won't leave his fucking side. But... If he crashes and burns it won't be because I left. It'll be because she THINKS I left."

"And if he does? What then?"

"Things change in a very big, very abrupt way, don't they. But I'm telling you right now...no matter how bad it gets, do not tell anyone I'm here. I'm waiting her out. Are we clear?"

"Mur..."

"Listen. If she's doing something to him...IF...then she's completely out of her mind and no way can she find out she's caught. It's way too risky for him. That means we let it go until SHE asks for help. Am I clear?"

"Murphy if you’re right...he'll be in agony."

"I know."

"He's six fucking years old!"

"I know that too."

"Even if she's only...medicating him when you're around, to make it look like it's you...so fucking what! Stay around then! Let her play her fucking game if it keeps him alive!"

"Then he and I both are in a cage. Neither of us deserves that. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, Murphy." 

 

He was as silent as oiled smoke, slipping into their apartment completely unnoticed. Years of sneaking around each other made eluding Connor as easy as breathing.

Matthews’s peculiar mercurial temperament helped. Unlike the twins, he had a dislike of physical contact that bordered on phobic. He would offer it up to someone who needed it...always quick with a touch or a hug if someone he loved was sad, or sick...but he kept those encounters brief, retreating to his own space as soon as he could.

He always slept alone, couldn't abide anyone in the room, let alone right next to him, and woke almost instantly if anyone came near...a tendency Murphy was very much counting on. There was no chance anyone would be with him.

Padding silently into the little den he knew Connor would have settled him in, he stood for a moment in the doorway, watching him sleep.

He wouldn't have more than a couple of minutes, he knew, before his presence woke him, but he needed to see his face.

If he was going to torture him the way he thought he was, he at least needed to face him.

Christ knew, he avoided setting eyes on him as much as possible, though even he couldn't really have said why. It wasn't dislike. It wasn't fear. It wasn't even what he wanted. Reason clear or no, Murphy being who he was, he just went with it.

Tonight, though....he took him in...more... drank him in as if it might be the only time in the rest of his life he'd have him in his sights, and the sudden, unforeseen rush of love he felt threatened to undo him.

Was he really going to do this?

He couldn't take his eyes off him.

They looked alike, he'd already known...he'd been told far more times than he ever wanted to hear...and he saw now just how true it was.

Fine boned and slight, faintly elfin and prettier than he'd be happy about, later...he could see his own face clearly.

Minus the scars, the subtle changes of a lifetime of knocks in the face, age. 

He was looking at himself, as a child, something he barely remembered.

He could see Connor, there, too, where he couldn't on himself, and of course Maura.

Not much of her, no, but there.

Stepping into the room, knowing he was down to seconds, he sat on the edge of the sofa, one hand resting on a little foot, through the blanket.

He could feel it already, under the skin, those writhing slithering movements that rarely, if ever, completely ceased.

It had come from him, he had it himself, though to no debilitating degree. How much of his continual fidgeting was completely involuntary he'd never let on. There had been no reason to. It had never bothered him, had never hurt...it was just him.

And it was his son, somehow translated down into an agonizing, debilitating, potentially deadly form.

"God, I'm so sorry..."

It came out nothing more than a whisper on his breath...and he hadn't meant to speak at all...but he saw those eyes flicker open...world weary already, even at six…and move to lock with his.

His eyes entire...in that respect it was like looking in a mirror.

He held a finger to his lips, and waited for the affirmative nod.

Six going on ancient, the knowledge in his son’s eyes broke his soul.

He didn't know why he was here.

Unthinking...as if it were Connor...he held out a hand, a little surprised to feel it taken and held.

"Why're you sorry?"

Whisper soft...good. He didn’t want to wake Connor.

"For everything."

"No. Don't lie. I heard you talking. You're gonna let her hurt me, and try and catch her."

"Is it her, Matty?"

"She doesn't do anything. It just happens. Before...she gave me medicine. It worked a little. You came and you worked a little. And Connor. He works, a little."

"So, how does she hurt you?"

"When you're gone I don't have anything even that works a little."

"No medicine?"

"Nope."

"Connor?"

"This is the first time. He came and got me. He's pretty mad at you."

"I know, that's why we're whispering. Why don't you tell someone? About..."

"Dude. Murphy. She's my mom."

"No excuse."

"Murphy?"

"Hm?"

"Why don't you like me?"

There was no sadness in the question, just base curiosity. Why is the sun yellow? Why is the moon round? Why don't you like me?

He didn't want to break, didn't want to cry in front of this fragile little boy, felt it happening anyway. 

"I do."

"No you don't. You're scared of me."

"Where'd you ever hear that?"

"I didn't. How come you don't want to wake up Connor?"

"He's pissed. He'll beat the snot outta me."

He was faintly gratified by the little giggle that got.

"And I'm not scared of you. I'm scared for you."

"It makes you not like me."

"No it doesn't"

"Why's Connor pissed?"

This was too much, it was everything he was wired not to do.

"To catch her...I have to let her hurt you."

"I know. We talked about that.  
Why are you crying?"

"I don't want to do it."

"But you don't even know me."

"Well, that's where you're wrong."

He stood up, unable to take anymore.

"Listen... I'm going to leave. I won't be far away, though. I need you to keep this...."

He broke...utterly...choking on tears, struggling to be quiet so Connor wouldn't wake. How could he do this?

"I need you to not tell anybody I was here. Or that I'm still here. They have to think I'm gone, do you understand?"

"Yeah...I’m not dumb. She can only blame it on you if you're not here."

Murphy could hear it in that soft voice, feel it licking at his mind.

Anger, disgust, a six year old ancient’s version of contempt...directed not at Maura, but at him.

At his lack of conviction, his willingness to hurt him and then daring to cry about it.


	57. Chapter 57

He'd found the place weeks ago, frustrated and roaming the halls, looking for a place to just be...a place free of nagging voices judging his lack of interest in his son...that it wasn't at all true something nobody seemed willing to accept...free of constant inquiries after his health...and how much more sick of discussing his inner workings could he possibly be...free of people in general where he could just let his mind roam, let his innate ability to heal himself have some reign.

He'd taken to spending his free time there....in that little forgotten attic apartment finding the inspiration to go beyond these insular people for help, finding the desire...stronger in him than anything had ever been...to save his child, and himself. It was there that he came to suspect his true calling....not avenging angel...as Connor’s seemed to be...but...he couldn't allow himself the hubris to say savior. Something hovering in the silver zone between savior and protector, maybe.

It was there that he went, now, not willingly....the coming events would taint this place, of that he had no doubt....but it was the only place he had.

And so...trepidation rising in him, a sickness more terrible settling into his soul than any he could imagine...he settled in with it and waited.

If his friend from Cambridge was right, and Matty’s condition was what they thought it was, it wouldn't be long.

Smoking the first of what would be dozens, lit one from the other over the next few days, he thought back to the conversation that had brought him to this place, this act of what he could only consider brutal terrorism.

"David, we're not talking magic, or the supernatural at all, we're talking good old fashioned genetics with a shot of family legend, nothing more."

"What kind of genetics would make him sick as soon as I hit town."

"None, that's utter bullshit. Fantasy. Look, what you've shown me traces a familial condition...tenacious yes, supernatural no. It's very obvious. As for all of this psychotic drive to fulfill some calling....any great passion is obsessive, obsessive behavior is neurotic in nature...sometimes crossing into psychotic, sure. Neurosis are genetically passed like anything else. There's nothing..."

"Michael, you saw my scans. You saw what I've lived through. How is that possible? And the thing with my brother?"

"It's possible because you didn’t die, David. Again, strong healing ability is as normal as weak constitution. Scans of your brain show amazing activity in areas that are dormant in the majority of the population, but that activity is by no means unique. It's common enough in families...not to the degree you describe maybe...mothers who know from miles away that somethings happened to one of their children....it's extremely well documented in twins...are you a twin?"

"No."

"Ah...well. If it makes you feel more normal, there's clear retardation in some areas of your brain that the general populace has heavy activity in....analytical thought, impulse control...you suck at math, too, right? If you were to look at mine you'd see yet another atypical pattern of activity. Unusual proclivities all come down to brain. And yes...it's genetic."

"What about my kid getting better when I'm there?"

"Eh....could be bullshit. Could be psychogenic....he's been taught he will so he does. It COULD be chemical, but in that case it's a direct contradiction of you making him sick. Most likely its psychogenic. He believes it, relaxes when he's around you and the symptoms abate. Or...it's possible someone's giving him something that's aggravating it, or not giving him something that alleviates the symptoms. The conditions real though. The video you showed me is a classic staticus dystonicus. A dystonic storm. You said he's always...what was it, 'wriggly'? He's dystonic. Millions of reasons for that, an awful lot of them are genetic. You have it yourself."

"Me? No..."

"You think all that fidgeting is deliberate?"

"I...I don't even ever notice it."

"I know."

"What he's got is killing him."

"Different degrees. It's not exactly rare, kids like this. It does kill them, too. These kids go into renal failure, they have massive clotting issues...the muscles break down from the constant extreme movement, especially this violent choreoathetosis... muscle fibers are released into the bloodstream and it puts a huge strain on the kidneys... I'd like to test his blood. While I'm at it I'd like to run a tox screen. See if he's on any meds that might aggravate it. Or treat it."

He sighed, now, thinking about it. It had sounded simple...promising...likely. Look where it had taken him. Hiding out in an attic, waiting for his son to start screaming.

The urge to just grab him and run grew stronger with every second, but his gut refused to allow it.

Kidnapping him wasn't the solution.

Ending the problem was.

He knew it as he knew his name…and the fact that Donovan and Connor...though they both detested him for it...were allowing it spoke volumes. They knew, in their guts as well, that the only way to end it was to prove it. And, if his mother wouldn't let them run any tests...

They wouldn’t admit it, either one of them, but the fact that they'd let him go told him everything he needed to know. They could have just as easily locked him up.

Their subconscious, tacit approval didn't help his state of mind, much.

Thinking about using that little boy to trick his mother into giving up the goods...be it blood samples or truth...shot a bizarre curdling sensation through his entire being, frightening, sickening, shameful.

It wasn't who he was, and it hurt his heart.

He might have felt better had he known that, across town, the two men he'd been working with the most closely...two men who'd been deep in collateral research long into every night, committed to helping him solve this, digging deep into his DNA and that of his child, had just realized who mother and child were...and who Murphy must be, though his former Boston saint status was entirely unimportant to them...and could have told him that what was about to happen would have been inevitable, eventually.

That, even had he chosen not to provoke it deliberately, it would have happened anyway, and that by controlling where and when it came he was giving his son the only possible chance to survive.

Might have.

Later, when it was over and he had a chance to consider it, he thought that probably...even with full knowledge…nothing could have made him feel any better.

Once the screaming began, clearly audible both externally and from inside his mind, nothing in the world could have helped.

The screams began, the blackness took him, and sanity fled.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic.

He paced...smoked...paced...cried...paced...waited for Connor’s call...wondering again and again why it wasn't coming...and forced himself not to block his ears.

He was, after all, responsible. This whole thing was on him. Hell, that poor kid’s very existence was on him, and what kind of evil ran in his blood to do something like this to a little kid who'd never asked to exist in the first place?

Guilt warred grief, called it a standoff and together they turned on him.

 

Connor...matching his brother cigarette for cigarette though he didn't know it...read through the thick file Murphy had left him, more disturbed with every word. 

He'd never doubted his brother’s information was valid, at least as far as Matty’s symptoms went. He'd thought the whole blood calls to blood bit was bullshit right from jump, and that the kid was clearly sick and they were all a bunch of deluded idiots. Well meaning...but nuts.

To see it all documented, though...it made it hard to think anyone could have missed it by mistake.

It was all there in front of him, leaving him with the inescapable conclusion that Maura... Maura who'd once insisted he free a horrifically stuck mouse from a glue trap, remove every trace of glue...never mind how many times he was bitten in the process...and turn it loose...dissolving into tears when it had taken half a dozen steps and died anyway...Maura who rescued stray animals, stray children, and stray men straight off the boat from Ireland and freezing in an unheated Boston squat...was deliberately denying her own son medical treatment that could save his life.

He hadn't really believed it, had pretended to agree with Murphy...hoping the validation would calm him down... only because he'd seemed so manic, so agitated, and so far from rational.

Great job, that.

Murphy was gone, the kid was with him, and if any of this data was right, he was balanced... on one foot and in a high wind...on the edge of a medical crisis that his mother HAD to realize.

There was no way around it. She knew. She had to. She, for Christ sake OWNED a medical center, lived surrounded by medical experts of every breed...her son had been hospitalized for weeks...had none of them figured this out?

Of course they had.

So why was she doing this? Was Murphy right? Was she so desperate for him to stay that...no, but that was just stupid. All she'd ever have to do to get Murphy to stay around was let him. He'd made a big show of being mad at her, but she knew him well enough to know it was just that....a show. No...this had begun long before Murphy had even known she was still alive.

This had nothing to do with Murphy...unless she was stupid enough to think he'd still take off because he thought his being around made the kid a target.

Well...maybe he would, at that.  
Now that he thought about it, it wasn't really all that far-fetched. Murphy was, now and for always, a creature of habit and instinct. He might well beat feet if he thought he was protecting someone.

Still...she was hardly the type to pick keeping some guy around over keeping her own son alive.

Wasn't she?

Everything he knew about her told him he was right. She wouldn't choose Murphy over her...their...child. This wasn't...exactly...about that.

Why, then, the creeping dread fingering its way up his spine? Why the suspicion...leering from around his every mental corner...that she was not only failing to keep him well, but was actively endangering him, just to make his illness fit some moldy old fantasy to make sure his brother didn't leave? And...if she was...did she really think they'd BUY that?

"Christ, is she actually TRYING to kill him?"

The sound of his own voice startled him, made him jump, and he realized, feeling the cold sweat on the back of his neck, just how scared he really was.

Something was going on here but whatever it was it seemed, so far, to be beyond him.

He didn't have time to think it through any further.

The thump and cry from the den drew his attention completely, and he tossed the files down, all suspicion and theory erased from his mind in the overwhelming reality of having to take care of this little boy...his brother’s son.

He called Maura while en route to Matthew, ready to fight her on her refusal to give up a blood sample, unaware that it had already become unnecessary.

He never got far enough into the file to find Murphy’s note, or its attendant instructions.

In the end, it hardly mattered, as those, too, had become nearly as meaningless. Useful, perhaps, at salvaging what was left of Murphy's sanity, but then... they'd never know.

In the wake of what was to come, all of their plans...teardrops on a floodplain.

Upstairs...one floor above their apartment, in the unused little attic that had become his haven...Murphy listened to the hell going on below him, hands tangled into his hair, pulling hard enough to send swaths of blood raining down his face, mixing with tears and soaking into the boards just a few feet above his brother and his son...lit cigarette, forgotten between his fingers, burning down and then in, a pain he never felt....and waited for a call that never came, his mind and soul peeling away in shreds timed to the screams below.

Across town, in a basement lab, surrounded by bright, rational reality, two men fought, nearly...though not quite...to blows over the fate...the lives...of two men they weren't supposed to know existed, and a little boy they'd been instructed to forget.

Nobody watching at the time could have said which of them 'won', or if, in fact, anyone had, but the argument took itself to the parking garage, into a car and onto the road...headed to an address they'd sworn to never acknowledge.

In that moment, had they known it was happening, the twins...and Matthew, who...each for reasons all his own...had absolutely reached the point of no return, of giving up entirely, might have once more regained some faith in their fellow humans, and in life itself.

As it was, not a one of them knew, and, as the night wore on, the darkness swallowed them.


	59. Chapter 59

Connor, in hell, at the edge of endurance...though he knew it was nothing compared to what the child in his arms was going through...had really already given up hope.

This was the worst he'd seen...as if just because Murphy had decided not to come back the disease or curse or whatever it was had decided to hurry up and kill him before he changed his mind.

Giving sentience to a disorder was stupid, and he knew it, but he'd never seen it hit this hard, this fast, flinging him off the couch and onto the floor, back and neck arched back into impossible tension.

Afraid he couldn't breathe, he'd tried to move them back...once...the scream of pain it had caused accompanied by a little freshet of blood.

He couldn't help him, couldn't hold on to him, couldn't do anything to stop it...could only watch as his joints dislocated, his entire body twisting and writhing into nightmare positions, blood running from his nose and mouth in streams.

Every few minutes would bring a lull...his little body relaxing into what appeared to Connor to be sleep, though he knew it wasn't.

Exhaustion, yes. Sleep? It wouldn't let him, and unconsciousness wouldn't take him. No mercy here.

He hadn't known at first, during the first lull had thought him unconscious and taken one little hand, gently beginning to move the little fingers back into position, surprised when it was pulled away with a hiss.

Awake and staring at him, eyes and face wet with tears, he'd whispered only "don't" , the rest coming to him as if it were Murphy.

It would only hurt, futile pain as the next wave would force everything out of position again. It seemed, then, that some great internal floodgate opened, sent him reeling, stricken as Matthews life played out behind his eyes.

The depth of this little boys pain, not only in body but in soul...he had no one, no mother in any but the most clinical sense. She bore him no affection, had never loved him, had been frightened of him since conception, something he had somehow KNOWN.

His only family his mother and her sister...mother cold and frightened, hating him. Her sister incestuously loving...the origin, then of his aversion to touch....  
The rest of the people in his world casually, cheerfully friendly...no connections other than Logan's obsessive love somehow tied into Ira’s perversion of it. He'd never hurt him, had loved him, hadn't helped him.

A life spent moving from house to house, tested, experimented on, a rat in a maze the size of the world, alone and uncared for.

And then Connor and Murphy...and he saw it there, his awareness that Connor loved him, reciprocated and more importantly he trusted him.

Trusted him to help.

But Murphy...oh Christ, Murphy. If there was any pinpoint moment Connor had given up...lost faith in everything and everyone, including his brother...it was now, as he felt, through this little boy, the overwhelming, overpowering, completely consuming call of blood to blood...this child loved Murphy more than any human being could have ever, possibly loved another, wanted nothing more than to just BE with him...and got absolutely nothing back. Shunned, entirely, by the one person he really needed...and yet amazingly still trusted. Trusted enough to let this hell happen...because he knew. He'd talked to Murphy. And Murphy...was here?

"Matty? He's here?"

The waves were coming in again, twisting him back into hell, but he answered.

"Upstairs. Waiting for her to come. To catch her."

A deadly trap with this little boy... who loved him with his entire soul... the bait.

In that second the impossible happened as Connor found himself hating Murphy. Real hate. Not anger, over-emotion, sadness temporarily transmuted.

Hate. Pure and unadulterated.

Becoming, as he looked down at the dying child in front of him, murderous.

Murphy, upstairs in a hell of his own...Matthews communication with Connor felt just as clearly by him...already dying inside with the knowledge that his son thought he didn't care, had mistaken his distance...human, he'd been afraid. Afraid, he'd been distant, but he loved him no matter how much it terrified him...for dislike, felt Connor hate slice through him, keenly as any razor, severing the bond between them, leaving him completely on his own.

His own scream, of far more than mortal pain, mingled with and became lost in his sons.

Just down the hall Maura heard her son clearly. She'd taken Connor’s call, promised to be there immediately, but she was in no hurry.

There was nothing she could do for him until Murphy came back, demanding his blood samples.

He wouldn't get them, but the drugs she'd slip Matthew would quiet the storm, solidify Murphy as the only chance his son had, and place any damage this attack might do...and the damage was cumulative, of that there was no doubt...squarely on Murphy’s shoulders. If Matty died, let that be on him as well.

Murphy was wrong if he thought this was so he'd stay with her. She could have cared less.

This was so he'd stay with the demon child he'd created, one she'd have killed herself long ago if she'd had it in her.

This was HER way out.

She didn't know, of course, as she made her leisurely way toward her son, that there were two men standing at the front door, arguing with Donovan, who were well aware that Ira had, by no stretch of imagination, been the more psychotic of the Kendrick sisters, and who knew exactly what Maura was up to.


	60. Chapter 60

"Let them in."

Terry, glancing at Donovan’s screen as he passed, froze in his tracks, barked out the directive.

"Terry, no way. They're asking for Dave Marshall."

"Murphy?! That's Murphy?!"

"Yes, that's..."

"Let them in then! Donny, I know them both....they...oh my god...they're who he's been working with, they've got to be. Jesus, never try to convince me something's not at work here...Donovan! Let them in!"

The wonder and urgency in Terry’s voice convinced him.

"Ok...I guess. Go meet them."

"Ok. Tell them I'm coming. Don't let them leave!"

He was out at a dead run, the store of knowledge known to him...and only to him....playing through his mind, searching for the mental codes to put this together.

By nature far from scheming, Terry kept no deliberate secrets beyond those clearly necessary for survival, but his role with the complex...coding every document, every file...knowing every identity...keeping the logs from every surveillance camera, phone, tablet and computer in the place...put every secret they had in his trust. He'd made it clear from the start that he would keep classified information classified, but he wouldn't lie or pass false information. If he wasn't at liberty to say something, he would simply say so.

What he'd not bothered to mention was that if a secret boded ill, it would find no home in him.

That said...most of the information he was exposed to was simply absorbed into his overall wealth of genius brain and forgotten...not mentioned because it wasn't thought about...unless it was called up for use.

These men...he knew them, had worked with Michael before he'd found his home here.

He had sent Maura to him when she'd said she needed answers on Matthew.

He hadn't known, at the time, what she'd needed, only that she was worried for her little boy and looking for someone in research and genetics to help her.

It had gotten complicated, had grown to involve the other man waiting at the door, had eventually become ugly, as her requests more and more frequently violated their ethics, their morals...their humanity.

They'd called on Terry, looking for information, and he'd found himself in an uncomfortable, awkward duality, possessing too much information about everyone, and he'd been on the verge of removing himself from the situation when the three of them had abruptly cut off relations....they'd refused to continue working with her, and she'd paid them well to forget they ever had.

That they were here cross referenced in his remarkable mind with the genetic genealogy he'd given her years ago...given the twins so much more recently...and a million snips of conversation came back to him...played and replayed...

Played and replayed.

"Oh no. Oh my god."

He was on the phone to Bodhi even as he ran, hitting the doors mid word and mid stride, words directed into the phone confirming the worst fears of the men at the door as he yanked it open and ushered them inside.

"She's trying to make Matty fit the stories, she's gonna kill him..."

"He DOES fit the stories, Terry."

"Oh don't be an idiot! Nobody does! Are you at home?!"

"Yeah, Terry. Where do you need me?"

He found himself frozen in place for the second time that night, this time stuck tight in dread as he replayed the last couple of days actual data...Maura’s computer, phone, tablet....Murphy’s phone...Connor’s...

The video surveillance he'd seen and dismissed...

The log in from Logan's old room up on four...

And the phone calls from all across three regarding screams....

He grabbed Michael’s hand, sparing the barest, most disparaging glance for the man with him...he knew his blood, and while he respected the man himself, his distrust for the bloodline ran deep in his own veins...and pulled, speaking into the phone as he dragged him in and up the stairs.

"Bodhi...get to..."

Oh fuck hiding their names.

"... Connor and Murphy. You’re closer than I am. If this plays out the way it's going right now they'll kill each other...or Maura. Or everyone. Christ even knows if Matthew’s still alive. I'm on my way up to..."

He hesitated, a million data streams rerunning in his head, ignoring the panicky buzz of Bodhi on the phone until he'd sorted it to his satisfaction.

"Bodhi just go to their place and keep Connor there. I'm sending Mike Emery and..."

Fuck, he'd forgotten his name.

"...Jordan’s son up there. I think I saw Maura headed that way right before I left. HEAD HER OFF! Don't let her near Matthew! I'm going to get Murphy."

He thumbed off the phone, jammed it in his pocket, and turned to Michael.

"Matthew Kendrick is with Connor. That's the best place for you to be right now, I think. You'll need to explain to Connor if he doesn't already know what's going on. 3B. Be careful."

Without waiting to see if Michaels understanding of the situation matched his own, he shoved him in the general direction of the twins’ apartment and ran.

If he'd put things together right, there was almost no chance to avoid the night ending bloody.

Almost none...

It was enough of a chance for him to take it.


	61. Chapter 61

Had he known his brother was coming for him...fully intending to blow him out of existence...he wouldn't have cared.

Beyond caring what happened to him, his connection to both Connor and Matthew abruptly severed...had Connor done both? Had Matthew died? He didn't know, didn't think he cared enough to wonder, though the fact of his wondering proved him wrong...the only thing he was aware of was terror for the people below him.

The depth of Connor’s blast of hatred laced pain had undone him in the deepest, most fundamental way. He had CAUSED that, caused a pain so great in his brother it had created hate....more, provoked him into cutting himself entirely off, something he'd never done...something Murphy hadn't even known he COULD do but of course he could he was his brother his twin his blood his everything and whatever one could do the other...

"OH MY GOD WILL YOU STOP!"

Shouting at himself, shaking himself out of those meaningless, racing, thoughts, he took himself in hand. He could melt down later.

Something had happened downstairs.

"Think, Murphy, think."

He knew Matty was alive...mental link or no, he could hear him...but he couldn't go down until he knew Maura was there...without face to face confrontation she'd wiggle out of it, he knew. She'd argue that he hadn't been there at all.

Connor would call her, and was supposed to call him when she arrived.

Had he called her? Was she simply not there yet?

Had something made him change the plan?

It came to him suddenly, so simple he cursed himself for a fool...had he not read the note, left in the file folder for him?

"The one time in my life I have a plan and he misses it. Great MacManus, great, how do you do these things, do you try?"

Sitting here talking to himself wasn't getting him anywhere. He'd have to go down. If he got there first it really didn’t matter.

His fingers, knotted in his hair for so long they'd cramped tight, likely saved his life.

It would be days before he understood exactly what happened next, so much of it subconscious and peripheral...and all of it so fast... he had no actual awareness of how close to complete destruction he...and Connor...had come.

One moment slowly...impatiently...painfully working his clenched hands open, the next an eruption of confused sound, images, light and pain.

The door, crashing open to smash into the wall...

A cacophony of sound, shouting voices, running feet, those ungodly screams from the floor below...

A peripheral glint his hand...only that moment unclenched and not yet lowered...instinctively batted away…

The deafening sound of a gunshot not an inch from his ear and then ringing silence...

And silence...

And silence... as hands grabbed at him, other hands...fists...a gun?...crashed into his face...the taste of his own blood in his mouth, spitting out flecks of what he'd later learn were his teeth, breath clogged to nothing through a nose full of blood, vision giving him nothing but a confused nightmare montage of faces...shouting, snarling, raging faces...and then Connor’s gun looping again into his face.

He tried to dodge...would have failed...felt himself shoved...hard...from behind, directly INTO his brother.

Unthinking, unaware that his twin had just tried to kill him, trapped in deafening ringing silence, he grabbed him and hung on, panic tripling his strength, locking his grip...immovable.

He felt Connor trying to shake him off, not immediately registering it, so alien was such an act from his brother, shocked into sudden awareness when Connor’s teeth sank into his shoulder.

It wasn’t so much pain that brought him back to his senses...by comparison to everything else he'd dealt with, Connor biting him wasn't much on his pain scale...but more the outraged indignation that burst through him as he realized his brother had not only bitten him, but smacked him a good one, in the mouth, WITH HIS GUN, …AFTER attempting to shoot him in the head...and coming damned close if his ringing ears were anything to go by.

Hurt, fear, confusion and guilt...formerly holding sway over him with complete impunity...fled the scene at the speed of light as extraordinarily high piss off moved in.

"What the fuck, Connor!"

He knew he'd hollered...couldn't hear it as much more than a whisper...and had no time to note any reaction as Terry...where had HE come from...slipped between them, simultaneously holding Connor in place and shoving Murphy toward the door.

"Murphy, go! Everything’s about to blow up and Matty’s in the middle of it! YOU..."

He caught Connor...on his way after his brother, nothing but no good on his face...by the hair, yanking him back with a yelp of pain and a string of completely ignored curses.

"...need to calm the fuck down if you want to see the outside of this room anytime soon, and don't you dare think I can't keep you here. You gonna keep trying to fuck him up or get a fucking grip and help us?"


	62. Chapter 62

Murphy's first thought, entering his home, was that Terry had lied through his teeth. Far from blowing up, the place was quiet, but for Matthews ragged breathing...it didn't sound right, but at least he wasn't screaming.

He was still, though, except for the seeming perpetual motion Murphy had come to think of as normal for him.

No longer in the den, Connor had created a thick pallet of blankets and pillows on the living room floor and settled him there, eliminating the chance of falling off the sofa or knocking against anything hard.

But...he was alone.

Connor had left him alone?

The saint instinct took him over, sending him room to room....checking.

Nobody hiding. Nobody here.

He caught a glimpse of himself, passing the hall mirror and laughed grimly.

Not even he was here if that specter in the mirror was to be believed.

Wraithlike, slim now to a completely deceptive delicacy, face hidden behind a curtain of sweat soaked, bloody hair, he thought the kid might take one good look and figure the gig was up...death had come for him.

He went back to the living room...still quiet, still nobody around.

Connor wouldn't have done that, no matter how angry he might have been at Murphy. Something had happened. Had someone been here?

His simmering frustration tried to come to a boil. What had gone on?

Never mind. Whatever had been...had been. All he had now was now.

He knelt next to Matthew, reaching out to brush wet hair from his face, laughing again...that same ugly laugh... at the similarity between them. The specter of death and his son...equally hauntlike, sweaty, bloody, somehow barely there.

Tired eyes blinked open at his touch, and his heart broke a little more at the rush of relief that filled them.

More than anything, knowing now what this little boy thought...what he needed...what he'd never had...he wanted to just gather him up and hold on to him...what he'd have done for Connor if he were sick, hurt...sad. What Connor would do for him. His soul clamored at him to do it, his mind held him back, knew he couldn't.

Not only would he hate it....it would hurt him.

He settled for what he already had, one hand wound in the little boys hair...gently...when this thing came back he didn’t want his fingers to get caught and pull...the other cradling his hand. He couldn't actually hold it...twisted out of position as it was he had no idea how much it might hurt.

"Matty..."

It was all there in one word. How sorry he was, how much it broke his heart to have done this, how much he already loved him without even knowing him yet.

He couldn't say it...didn't have to. This was, after all, his son. He knew, and Murphy saw it reflected in his eyes.

"Matty...is it stopped?"

He knew better, still had to ask.

"No."

There was nothing left to his voice but a hoarse whisper.

"It stops and comes back. I keep getting stuck. It's stupid."

Stupid. Murphy fought the urge to laugh. It certainly wasn't the descriptive he'd have chosen.

"Why are you alone?"

"I wasn't."

He tried to move, to shift into some kind of comfort, overflow motion destroying the effort and bringing thin anger to the surface.

"Connor was here. He put me on the floor. Bodhi and those guys were here and they all left me. Then just you were here. Elena’s dog sleeps on the floor."

Murphy heard the wounded pride, understood the insult he felt.

"He just didn't want you to get hurt. You don't have to stay down here."

"I can't do anything."

"I can help you get up."

"No. It'll hurt. It's dumb. Just don't you leave, too, ok?"

His hand floated up, brushed Murphy’s face...by accident or design Murphy didn't know but he caught it...held it.

"I'm not leaving."

"What happened to your face?"

"Connor hit me with his gun. I think he might've tried to shoot me."

Oddly, the thought didn't hurt. Inside himself he felt...himself. Pissed off, bizarrely amused, as unconcerned as he'd always been when Connor was mad at him. As if some secret sense, unknown even to him, already knew that whatever had set Connor off wouldn't, in the end, amount to anything.

If only everything else felt as inconsequential. 

"Why?"

"I'm not really sure."

"Cause of me. That's why he's mad at you. I didn't mean to make him mad at you..."

He looked away, guilty. As unthinkable as it was, it was fact.

"Oh, no no no...Matthew!"

Murphy, flat out horrified, let go of his hand, turned his face to his own and held it there, refusing to let him look away.

"Don't you ever even THINK that! Not one bit of this is your fault! Not ANY of it, and don't you forget it! You got no say in this, did you?"

He got no answer but a stubborn aversion away from his eyes and bit back another laugh. This kid...wrecked though he might be...was tough.

Well. So was he, and he wasn't about to be bested by a six year old.

"DID you?!"

"Quit yelling at me."

"Quit apologizing for stuff you can't do anything about."

"HE put me on the floor. YOU yell at me. You should go away, too."

"Well I'm not."

"Your tooth is busted."

"Thanks for pointing that out. You think I should leave you here and go get it fixed or something?"

"No."

He sighed, gave up, and let Murphy’s eyes meet his...the mad draining out if him as quickly as it had come.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Liar. I don't want you to leave."

"Good, cause I'm not going to."

"Connor did. They all did. That's what you're supposed to do with dead things. Leave them alone."

"Dead things!"

A chill ran up his back...as real as if someone had turned an ice machine to the back of his neck.

"What're you talking about...dead things?"

"I got stuck being dead, so they left. That's what you..."

"Matthew, you're not dead."

He heard steps behind him. Connor. He knew without turning, felt the tentative tap at his brain even as he felt fingers touch his hair, his brother settling beside him.

Matthew didn't appear to notice, so intently fixed on Murphy it was doubtful he'd have noticed anything at all.

"I'm not now, Murphy."

His tone implied Murphy’s cretinism. “I was. But don't worry. I always come back. So..."

His voice was beginning to sound stressed.

"Don't leave. Promise!"

"I won't leave. I told you that. I absolutely promise. But why do you think you were dead?"

"My mom told me...things are dead when you can't feel their heart bumping any more. And when you can't see them breathing. That's when they're dead, and you leave dead things alone."

"But Matty, your heart IS beating. You're breathing...you're talking to me."

"Not before. Ask him."

"What…Connor?"

He turned to look and found his brother nodding.

Immediate disgusted disbelief washed over him.

"Oh, what're y'nodding at y'idiot, you're going to tell me he was dead then? Matty..."

The little boy’s response was simple. Clear.

"I got stuck dead. He saw."

Whatever he was talking about, fear was taking him over, his little body trembling, breath becoming rapid, more ragged, panicky.

"Matt...honey..."

He stopped, frowning, whatever he'd been about to say forgotten, a bolt of terror…breathtaking in its intensity…crashing through him as the boys constant motion suddenly ceased, eyes open, staring, glazed over.

"Matty!"

"Murphy, look"

Connor reached toward the boy’s face, lighter in hand, flicked the flame into life perilously close to his eyes.

In the second before Murphy knocked it away with a hiss of fury, he'd seen the lack of response. No blink...no attempt to pull away from the flame.

For a split second he believed the boy had simply died while they were talking.

Stuck dead.

Fuck that. Just stuck.

He shoved away panic, and forced himself to really look. He couldn't see him breathing, reached out, seeking a pulse.

There. Was it?

He held his breath, pressed a little harder.

Absolutely there. Not strong, no, nor steady. Easy to miss...but once he'd found it unquestionably there.

Despite the freakish stillness, the apparent absence of breath...no discernable rise or fall of his chest.

WAS he even breathing?

Holding a hand in front of the little boys face, he thought he felt something.

Faint...but there. Just as easy to miss as his pulse.

"Christ..."

"Brother..."

"Shut up. The next time you decide to blow my head off for murdering someone, check for a pulse. Connor, he thinks he's dead!"

"I did too. I couldn't find a pulse, he isn't breathing."

"Yes he is. But he's so rigid....Matty this is what you meant by stuck, huh? Honey, you're not dead. And we're not leaving."

He turned to Connor, uncomfortably torn between anger and understanding.

"I see why you came after me. Help me get him up. I'm putting him in my bed, and I'm staying right beside him. You get on the phone and find out what the fuck is going on. Get Bodhi to bring something that will stop this. And somebody find his mother. This has gone on long enough."


	63. Chapter 63

"Bodhi’s on his way back, Murphy. He says he...uh... went for help."

"You don't believe him?"

"I...do. I don't want to talk about it in front of him."

"I don't think he can hear you, Connor."

In the few minutes since they'd moved him into bed, Matthews’s condition had changed drastically.

The terrible, paralyzed rigidity had left him, something Murphy had, at first, been glad of, giving way to a limpness so complete it was difficult to believe he still lived at all... that the thready little pulse still continued. His eyes, still partly open, held no glint of awareness.

"Jesus, Murph. You think you might have waited too..."

"Shut it, Connor. I know you're...I know you more than hate me, I know you're only being civil because of him, and I know it's my fault, so just..."

Tears cut him off. Tears he'd had no idea were coming, and for the first time he felt shamed, crying in front of Connor, for the first time turned away, hid his face from him, curling himself around his son as gently as if he were blown glass, tears running through the blood and sweat on his face, mingling with Matthews. The pain in his face...broken bones and broken teeth...unnoticed until now, burst into bloom with startling abruptness, his startled hiss of pain choked on tears.

His own hurt profound, the thought of this tiny, dying child in his arms having felt this his entire life was intolerable, and he pulled him close, still gentle, still delicate...but determined. He wouldn't die alone, never knowing what comfort was.

Ignored...and feeling he deserved it...Connor watched them for a minute, the ache in him huge. Both so wounded, both so fragile...and how had it come to this?

For that...how had he come to hurt Murphy like that? He'd certainly meant to kill him...horror and outrage mingling to outright murderous hatred...and he thanked whatever universal note it was that kept them alive, for letting him miss...letting Murphy knock his hand aside...letting Terry stop that final killing strike by throwing Murphy into him. For allowing that sudden homicidal urge to drain away.

He felt played...a chess piece on some inhuman cosmic board, nobody ever reaching check mate...his entire adult life a series of involuntary moves at someone else’s hand, every attempt to wrest control back simply another move in someone else’s game.

"Murphy."

He touched him gently, softly...sat next to him, his fingers moving automatically to the back of his brother’s neck, tracing those comforting little circles.

"There aren't any words, Murphy. I don't know how it came to this. I wish I did."

He got neutral acceptance, nothing more. Murphy allowed his touch, his words, his presence....but that was all. Silent neutrality.

And Matthew...his nearly imperceptible breaths had become noisy, gasping, rattles...the last breaths before dying, in every movie he'd ever seen.

He waited for the anger to come...felt only sadness that they'd let this happen, felt his brothers unspoken wish to be left alone, left with his child.

Sighing, his own tears dripping onto his brother’s face, he leaned down, kissed his hair, and left him, swiping impatiently at his eyes as he left. Crying over it wouldn't help anyone.

Not looking where he was going, he bumped into Bodhi before he saw him, started to step back only to feel arms wrap around him, hugging him tight, that by now familiar wave of Bodhi kindness breaking over him.

"It's gonna be ok, Connor."

The whisper was comforting, even if he didn't believe it.

"Bodhi..."

He stepped out of the embrace, shaking his head. "That kid's not gonna make it..."

"He might not, Connor."  
His face was serious, but it held no blame. "But if he doesn't it's not because of you or Murphy. I know it doesn't seem like it, but Murphy doing things this way...it's probably the best chance Matty has. If Terry had thought of things sooner...."

He shook off the thought. "'If' doesn't matter. It's not his fault, either. There are two men with me, Connor. I made them wait in the hall until I knew what we were walking into. Murphy knows them both...they can explain what's happening and why a lot better than I can. There's also someone on the way up to check on Matthew and hopefully....well, to check on him. Can I let these guys in?"

"They know who we are?"

"They figured it out. They're here to try to help, Connor."

"You were all here to try to help. Look where it got us."

"Look where it got you."

His voice was soft, faintly chiding.

"I'm SO sorry about what was done to you, Connor, more than you can ever imagine...and even more because it's Maura and we all trusted her....but...Murphy's alive...he'd be dead now if you hadn't brought him here. He knows he has a son, now, and he has the chance to know him. He wouldn't have, otherwise. And it's very possible his son will survive, now that the two of you are here...because Murphy's brave enough to risk this...and even if he doesn't, even if he dies, he'll leave with people who love him to see him out. Not the way he would have, otherwise. Likewise you and Murphy. No matter what...the two of you are surrounded by people who love you. LOVE you.

And...Connor....the two of you never have to live and work as fugitives again. You already know you can do what you do right from here...and there’s so much more for you both...so tell me....even with the damage...would it really have been better if you'd both died out there?"

"Bodhi...if that little boy dies....Murphy...and Jesus, I really hurt him. I almost killed him...oh just let them in!"

Angry, again, he shoved Bodhi, and all his sentiment, away.

"Just let them in, get that kid to a hospital, fix whatever you think you can fix, just...leave me be. I'm sick of explanations, I'm sick of excuses...it's just the way we always knew it was. There's always someone waiting....even people who saved us. Even people who loved us. Don't ever expect that to matter to me again. Just leave me alone, Bodhi."

He sank onto the sofa...felt more than heard Bodhi pass by with whoever he'd brought in followed a few moments later by several people he recognized from the hospital, loaded down with equipment. Good....they could worry about Matthew. His focus had narrowed and sharpened to a laser precise point with only one target.

Like her sister...insane... triggered by things that would cause a normal person to grow protective. Perhaps, trapped in madness, this was their version of protection. Of love, though he doubted deeply it was much more than selfishness.

Insane, selfish, murderously obsessive...and unfit to exist.

He could almost hear his brother, asking him what made him fit to play god. What gave him the right...

Well, it was lying in the next room with Murphy, wasn't it. It was a sick little boy who'd never hurt a soul, in the process of dying at his mother’s hand. It was Murphy, who he'd rather die than ever really hurt, who he'd nearly killed, so intense his rage over what had been done to that child. Murphy, always so quick to love everyone, who'd fought loving this child and failed, who was dying inside, now, at the thought of losing him.

The people he loved...in so much pain. That was what gave him the right.

He'd been waiting for what felt like an age when the door down the hall slammed open, his brother limping past a moment later to the kitchen.

Connor’s attention remained on the door, picking up Murphy’s motion in his periphery...holding on to the counter with one hand, turning on the water and reaching up into a cabinet for a glass with the other....only vaguely noting an unease deep in his core. What could there be about Murphy doing something so normal as drink a glass of water that would make him uneasy? Christ knew he was always thirsty. It had to suck to never be able to do more than sip at liquids....

His focus abruptly shifted, all concerned verging on irritable brother now.

"What the fuck're y'doing, Murph! You know drinking that fast is gonna make you..."

He paused at the sound of the water coming back up, already on his feet even as he finished the sentence.

"...sick. Fuck, Murphy, why would you do that?"

He slid an arm around him, brushing his hair out of his face from habit...so clotted with sweat and blood a little puke hardly mattered...remembered how much Murphy disliked him at the moment and braced to be pushed away, trying not to worry at him about how bloody the recycled water in the sink looked, and waited it out, holding back comment until he was sure it had stopped.

"Come on, brother, why would you do this to yourself?"

He was surprised he got an answer.

"I was just so fucking thirsty. And I'd swallowed so much blood...."

His words were almost impossible to understand, his face so grotesquely swollen, and Connor, wondering uneasily how many bones he'd actually broken, tried to turn him into the light to take a look, suddenly unable to move as his brother turned in his arms...not shoving him away, as expected, but holding on, as he had upstairs before Connor had shoved him off, clinging tight, crying too hard for sound.

"Oh...Murphy don’t..."

He held him, rubbing his back, his neck, whispering mindless little soothing words, convinced now that Matthew must have died.

He waited until he'd calmed, a little, and reached for a prescription bottle...watching Murphy watching him as he tapped out a tablet, hesitated, added another and crushed them both with the back of a spoon, brushed the powder into a shot glass with the barest spoonful of water and handed it to his brother.  
"Swallow it. It'll taste fucking awful but it'll knock back some of the headache. And then tell me..."

Knowing what he must be thinking, Murphy shook his head as he forced down the painkillers, grimacing at the bitterness.

"He's not dead. Not yet, anyway...."

"Well, isn't this cute. Crying and bloody, just like always."

She stepped into the room, and with no fanfare at all, the end began.


	64. Chapter 64

Absurdly, even after everything he knew she'd done, the rush of old love Murphy felt when she walked in staggered him...confusing until he realized how mingled with Matthew he'd become.

He'd loved her, once...deeply, obsessively. Matthew still did.

It was with Matthew in mind that Murphy leaned in to Connor, one hand curled around his brother’s hand...his brother’s gun...whispering in his ear.

"You can't kill his mom with him in the next room. And he needs to be able to see her."

He felt Connor’s indignation, understood it, didn't let it sway him.

"She's his mother."

Wiping his eyes, he stepped away from his brother and took Maura’s hand, feeling Connor’s fury wash over him.

It didn't matter. She needed to see what she'd done...and he needed to see if there was anything left of who she'd once been. Not that it would change anything...he needed it for himself, the mystery of how a person could lose their entire soul one he couldn't fathom.

When he'd known her...not a very long time past...she wouldn't have been capable of this.

"Maura."

His voice wasn't unkind.

"Come see your son."

Thrown off by his gentleness, she didn't argue, didn't shoot back anything scathing.

"What happened to your face, Murphy?"

"Connor. He thought Matty was dead. He tried to shoot me and missed so he settled for bashing my face in with his gun."

He searched her face for any sign of regret, any relief that her son was alive, any remorse for what she'd caused...found nothing. If it was there, she wasn't letting it surface.

"Come on."

He felt her hesitate as his hand turned the knob and knew she'd heard the voices beyond the door.

"Who's in there?"

"Bodhi, and some people from the hospital. They can explain about him. Go in, Maura."

Still she hesitated...he saw the suspicion in her, and the stubborn in him, the part that wanted to believe she was still in there somewhere, that reclamation might be possible, played the only card he had left.

He felt the ache of tears in his throat again, didn't bother to fight them. Why not let her see every bit of pain she'd caused?

"It might be the last chance you get."

Even that....nothing. She felt nothing but concern for her own outcome, and she wasn't going to move on her own.

He pushed open the door and stepped aside, forcing her to pass first, felt Connor step in behind them both, blocking any exit.

One way or another, it was over for her, and he hoped she'd just accept it and spare them any more of the sick, twisted game her life had become. 

He knew the hope was useless as soon as she spoke, immediately on the defensive.

"Who are you two? Why are you here? What are you doing to my son?"

Murphy had to hand it to her. It was a decent act...just the right amount of nervous hysteria to convince anyone in the room didn't already know the truth. Luckily enough, the only one still in the dark was Connor, and he'd cheerfully blow her head off at the slightest encouragement.

Bodhi stood up, took her arm, guided her away from her child, stepping into authority quietly and inarguably.

"You know full well who they are. But we're going to let them tell Connor...and Matthew, if he can hear, since he only knows what you've told him. And while they're talking, I'd suggest you shut your mouth. And don't think about getting near Matthew."

"Bodhi, he's my..."

"You forfeited whatever he was to you when you did this to him."

"That's not even legal, Bodhi."

"Come on, Maura. Can you really believe that any rules other than our own apply here? You created this place. What's here if not justice? Besides...do you really want to play that hand? Legal? Sit down, Maura, shut up and listen while we talk about you like you're not here."

"Bodhi...you KNOW me! How are you buying into this?"

"Yeah, and I've always trusted you. I've always believed every word you said but look what you've done. I'd kill you myself if it weren't for Murphy. He knew you too, by the way. And you were gonna blame this on him! Just...shut up."

His grip on her arm tightened as he turned to Connor.

"Connor, this is Michael. He's a geneticist from the college. Murphy's been working with him to try to figure out this whole thing about the family lines and the kids.

We made the importance of using aliases a little too clear to Murphy, by the way. If he'd used his real name it might have bought Matty a better chance.

This is Paul. He...holds entirely too many titles for me to label him, but he's the head of...everything...in genetics research at the school. He has a vested...personal...interest in this particular line of research. Murphy, how much have you told him?"

"Which him? Connor or...him...Paul?"

"Connor. Murphy are you ok?"

"Yeah, of course. I didn't tell either one of them much, Connor didn't want to hear it, and I hardly ever spoke to this guy. He's way above my pay grade. But, Connor...our veteran of the psychic wars is his grandfather. He IS one of these kids who's supposed to die or go insane. Makes sense he'd be interested, huh? Not quite enough to talk to me, though. Least not when I was just a nobody doing research."

"Murphy..."

"No, no...he's right."

Michael broke in, anxious to cut to the chase.

“Every few years someone comes along having come across this...anomaly. They're interested and want to explore it further. It truly is fascinating...

When Murphy came to me I thought that was the case again. He told me the child in question was his son, but I'm sorry to say I didn't believe him. Claiming a close relationship with someone affected by this is pretty standard, and it's never been the actual case. In fact, none of our past researchers has ever really known anyone touched by this.

I didn't believe that part of his story until he started bringing me up to date medical data, test results, various psychiatric and medical diagnoses. When he agreed to provide DNA samples...from himself and from his son...I knew as soon as I compared them that he was telling the truth, and that they were both affected. That was when I got Paul involved, but because he was using an alias...I knew that was the case, he'd lapsed several times on the name, but I had NO idea who I was really working with."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Respect, Connor. I suspected once or twice, but various information he gave seemed to discount it. He clearly didn't want to tell me, and it certainly isn't my business to pry. We're talking about research, here, not classified information.

It was when he brought in video surveillance data that Paul here realized. We didn't recognize Matthew, certainly, but we did recognize several of the medical staff...and, particularly important, we recognized Terry. Paul checked the address on the tapes and we realized who we had here and how wrong this situation was."

"Wrong?"

"Several years ago, Terry came to us with Maura. He'd been my student, and she had a problem with her son he thought I might be able to help with. Her story was unlikely...that her son’s father was Murphy MacManus and that she was a female descendant in his line, and had one of the "cursed" children.

Of course, we met Matthew, and he clearly had a dystonic disorder, but it was EXTREMELY mild. He didn't show any signs of psychosis, or of terminal illness. He was a very typical three year old with some very minor tonal abnormalities.

Maura agreed that his doctors had said the same, but she was concerned about this so called "curse".

Thinking it would set her mind at ease, I introduced her to Paul. Him being one of the cursed...and a PHD several times over it should have calmed her concerns no?"

"I'm going with no."

"Indeed. For the next year or so we spent a great deal of time with Maura, on her research, and on several projects involving these facilities she's developed, and as Murphy pointed out, Paul’s grandfather now resides in this one....but we were more and more concerned by her obsession with finding the means to MANIFEST the curse. Those are her words.

What had become obvious was that she was looking for ways to produce the symptoms of this legendary affliction in her son. She'd done extensive research on various chemicals that would, in combination, aggravate already existing symptoms, or produce symptoms where there had been none. She certainly wasn't experimenting on Matthew at that time, we'd have intervened if she had been, but as her interest in this became more unstable, we felt we could no longer work with her. She appeared to be researching a way to CREATE the mythical syndrome.

She'd also begun to develop some alarming fears about Matthew...or rather OF Matthew. In all honesty, we thought she'd become neurotically obsessive, suggested she seek psychiatric care, gave her several referrals, and stopped working with her.

When Murphy brought us those tapes and we put two and two together, we realized that the child in those tapes, the seriously ill child Murphy said was his son, must be Matthew, and that Maura must certainly, for god only knows what reason, have succeeded in producing the syndrome in her son. There was no way it would have happened naturally, that progression. He was perfectly healthy three years ago, when we first saw him, with almost exactly the same level of disorder his father has...barely noticeable. A year, year and a half ago, was the last time we saw Maura and Matthew. He was noticeably more dystonic and slightly psychotic. Paul recognized it as an adverse reaction, typical of methylphenidate. She confirmed she had him on Ritalin. He suggested DCing it, and then he DC'd her.

Now...I feel very comfortable saying she's created a very deadly situation."


	65. Chapter 65

"Deadly how?"

Connor’s focus remained intense. If these men had come here, there must have been something they thought they could do.

"What, exactly, did she do? And if he...”

He pointed at Paul

"Is one of the people who supposedly have this...why doesn't he?"

"I do, Connor, and it's much more globally involved. It's just being treated. His isn't....though his is so benign I wouldn't expect treatment to really be necessary. What's happening now is artificial. She's giving him drugs that exacerbate his symptoms. It's easy enough to provoke in someone who isn't dystonic, so many meds cause movement disorders as adverse effects. Given to someone who already has problems with it? You get this. Catastrophic, uncontrolled global involvement...movement storms. These aren't seizures. He's aware and coherent. This is torture, is what it is."

"So it's all movement?"

"That's all."

"Then how can it kill him?"

"Sometimes simply exhaustion if it goes on long enough. The body simply collapses. Heart attacks aren’t rare. Renal failure is more common. The constant, violent overuse of the muscles damages them, and the damage releases muscle fibers into the bloodstream. Normally the kidneys would just filter them out, no problem, but with so much continual damage the kidneys can't keep up, eventually become overloaded, injured, and stop working. That's renal failure. That's what's happening to Matthew now.

Then, because there's inevitable bleeding, the body increases clotting factor until it reaches maximum availability, at which point the blood loses clotting ability causing multiple bleeds, often in the brain and lungs. This is also happening to Matthew. Between the fluid buildup around his lungs and heart from the kidney failure, and the bleeds...he's in trouble. Deeply unresponsive, close to death...can we save him? Possibly. Unlikely, but possibly.

Unfortunately he's at a point where his body is so damaged that any treatment is as dangerous as no treatment. There are medications...but can we ask his kidneys to do anything more? They're not able to handle the load now. They need to recover. We're dialyzing him right now, but that's a fairly stressful process in and of itself. And there’s chronic damage. This isn't the first time. I'd guess it's the first time it's been allowed to continue for any length of time, but it appears that this state is induced on a fairly regular basis, treated, allowed to heal and then induced again."

"It's not induced"

Maura spoke up, finally, sounding disgusted.

"Induced....please. It just happens. It started when Murphy hit town. His presence triggered it. And now his presence is the only thing that stops it. As you can see...he's quiet now that Murphy's here. He never would have reached this point if Murphy hadn't left and refused to come back!"

And there it was. What they'd been waiting for.

"Maura."

Far from angry Murphy found pity the uncontested frontrunner.

He crossed to her, took her hand, again hoping something...anything...would break through.

"I've been here all this time, right upstairs. I was only gone long enough to run an errand. I wasn't gone more than a few hours. And he's just gotten worse and worse."

"We're supposed to take your word for that?"

"You don't have to take my word for it. Check with anyone you want. They all knew. I wanted to be wrong, y'know? But I knew it was you. You've been giving him stuff that sets this off whenever I'm gone. Giving him different stuff that stops it when I get back. All a fraud. I was planning to wait you out but...he got so sick. I was afraid he'd die. As it is, I probably waited too long. The thing now, Maura, is...what do we do about it? About you? Do you know..."

He had to stop, emotion threatening to take his words, and forced himself back into control.

"Do you know he told me not to hurt you? Even though you've told him he's a monster for so long he believes it, even though he thinks he dies and comes back to life because you've made him believe that, too. Even though you've been systemically killing him by inches...and don't try to argue it, I know what he knows just like I do Connor, I SEE the truth of it, even the parts he doesn't understand...he loves you. He doesn't want us to hurt you."

He never knew which of his words did it, but he saw it happen. A switch, somewhere in her psyche, thrown full on.

She shoved him away, fury dancing in her eyes.

"Loves me...bullshit. He's not even human. None of you are. Look at this one, is that level of genius normal? You're not, you and Connor with that joint mind...he has it too, and he spreads it! Whatever he's feeling makes everyone around him crazy! I tell him he dies and comes back because he does, you idiot! No pulse, no breathing....and then he just resurrects. Like the two of you. You can't seem to die, either.

He was hit by a car when he was two. Doctors gave him no chance. They said it was a miracle. Some miracle. He knows my every thought, all my emotions...he reads my SOUL. I fucking HATE it and he won't stop. He drives the people around him batshit crazy, like that creepy little chick in "The Ring”, and he can't die! I didn't ask to give birth to a fucking horror show. Paul, it was your grandfather who told me what to do. Bring on the curse. Disable him. Make sure Murphy was around so it wouldn't kill him. Only he could keep him in check and keep him alive. He told me I'd have to prove to Murphy that it was real. That..."

"Oh, shut it y'mad bitch!"

Connor had had enough. How much was real psychosis....or just plain stupidity... and how much was a put on he didn't know, and didn't care.

"I can see you're completely nuts if y'think any of that matters, that's what. It's not real and y'know it! You're torturing your own child!"

She pushed into his space, into his face.

"He's not a child!"

"Then what is he!! You'll tell me that?! What is he! He's JUST a little boy! Don't y'forget, I think in tandem as well. I know what's in his mind. He's just a little boy, and you're naught but an insane, envious, jealous bitch of a she devil that y'could do this to him! You two."

His attention shifted quickly, a creeping sense that time was running out pushing him to quit talking and do something.

"You're here for a reason, what is it?"

"To let Murphy know what we thought was going on, but he'd already figured it out. To let him know what we thought she was giving him, and what he could do to stop it. It's past that point now, though. He needs to be hospitalized, total supportive care."

"We can't admit him here."

Murphy, running on nothing and feeling intolerably defeated, found himself forcing the words out.

"Too many people are her friends, god knows how many believe in this bullshit. Mike, you're connected to Boston medical. Can you get him admitted...and protected?"

"Absolutely. I can have him in within the hour."

"No."

Maura, far from knowing when she'd been bested, shook her head emphatically.

"You can't take him without my permission and I'm not giving it. You can't override it, it's the law. Murphy isn't documented anywhere as his father, he has no legal right. He can't give you permission to treat, and Boston meds not going to treat without consent. You're not taking him anywhere."

"Actually...fuck it hurts to talk...shut up, Maura. You're not even in the picture anymore. If she says another word, Connor, shoot her."

Murphy...done with it...ended it in inimitable Murphy fashion. He just did it.

“Bodhi, give them the paperwork so they can take him and show her so she won't start running her fucking mouth again. Maura when I left, I went to see Bea. I have all the documentation I need. Don't worry, it's all completely legal. And Mike...can you get me in, too? I told him I'd stay with him, and it feels like every bone in my face is broken."

"Absolutely."

"Can you make the arrangements while we're on the way?"

"Yes."

"Get him unhooked from that."

"What about Maura? She..."

"Michael..."

Bodhi stepped in and took Maura’s arm, the venomous hatred in his glare at her ensuring her continued silence.

"We'll handle Maura. Don't worry."

More for Matthews benefit, should he still be hearing them, than for theirs, though he knew they'd accept the salve to their consciences, he added an obligatory "we won't hurt her."

He hesitated for a second, unsure, finally asked.

"Connor, do you want to go with them? We can handle her."

"Yeah, I'll follow them, but you go on and see that they get on their way with no trouble. She's not for you to handle. Go on."

"Connor..."

"She and I...we're gonna wait till you're on the way, and then we're gonna go see someone."

"What, you're not gonna just shoot me in the face like you did my sister?"

"No. I'm not gonna shoot you. You may find yourself wishing I had. Believe me, I'd like to. But this isn't about revenge...even if it were it's not mine to exact. Your son doesn't want us to kill you. We won't. But trust me...you'll know justice."

He waited until he got Murphy’s text that they'd arrived, Bodhi’s that he was on his way back....thinking about it, his eyes never leaving hers.

Was he right? Wrong? He didn't know. It felt right.

Now or never.

He stood up, took her arm...his grip iron she'd never break.

"Come on then, Maura. There's someone we need to see."


	66. Chapter 66

He watched him sleep, marveling a little as similarity after similarity made itself known. Face, so like his own, now that it wasn't the gaunt, haunted face of a refugee...though he supposed his own took on that shadow more than often...expressions...and personality... so like Connor, so much so that, had it not been for all the DNA to the contrary he'd have actually wondered.

In all accuracy, as weird as it seemed, he could have been theirs...his and Connor’s...if such a bizarre concept were possible. All of his emotional excess and impulse mingled with Connor’s practicality and thought. The fierce, unrelenting intelligence and intuition of them both.  
He'd thought, more than once, that this kid was the correction of the cosmic mistake made in their creation. He was what either of them would have been had they been complete.

And, of course, Maura.

Not the madwoman who'd reduced this miraculous being to what he was now...hanging onto life by a thread, only his genetic ruggedness...and ability to pull from the twins...keeping him alive long enough for his body to heal....but the crazy, funny little girl...barely 19 when they'd met her...who'd thought nothing of scraping two drunk, sick, broke idiotic strangers off the sidewalk one frozen Boston night.

Barely two weeks in the country and already rethinking it, they'd been hacking out the worst flu they'd ever known, chugging Nyquil like water, wishing for a working heater, any chance at being able to breathe without coughing themselves into the dirt, and railing at themselves for fools, it had been Connor who'd finally suggested that if medicine wasn't working they might just as well try whiskey and by the fuck they were finding a bar.

It'd been a grand idea until they'd tried to walk home.

They'd gotten lost, sat down, edged close to passed out...delightfully warm and oblivious to the fact that they were probably freezing to death.

She'd come along...laughing, brave, swearing like a trucker, somehow talking them onto their feet and into her house.

Brave or stupid, he thought now.

Strangers, they could have been anyone. Done anything. If not serial  
killers they were at the very least contagious.

They'd been family from go, at least for the first few years.  
Far from romantic, they'd played, worked and fought...particularly she and Connor, who disagreed about everything under creation.... like brothers, and it might have been truth to say neither of them had really noticed she was a girl.

Later, when things had changed...when he'd fallen in love with her...it had been suggested countless times that she and Connor disliked each other out of jealousy but they'd all known differently. Their fire and ice relationship....and they'd loved each other fiercely even though they couldn't stand each other...had been from the start. The only thing they'd ever agreed on was him. They both loved him, and he'd thought...many times...that it was the only reason they hadn't killed each other.

There had been no hint of this cruelty in her, no breath even of a hidden capacity for it. Not a whisper.

Something had happened.

Something had altered something in her...made her cold, made her...evil.

That it had been the birth of this child....and that certainly seemed to be the case...made no sense to him. None at all.

But he'd gotten nothing useful from her, that last night. Touching her had been like touching Connor’s void....with things crawling at the edges...cold and mean and afraid.

Something had scared her into it, that was all that was clear, but what could be so terrifying that it would justify the embrace of such cruelty? He didn't know, likely would never know.

Just as he'd never know what Connor had done with her.

He hadn't killed her, but that was all he was letting pass through.

That she was gone was all he would say, and though he'd very truthfully assured Matthew that he hadn't hurt her, hadn't killed her, she was still very much alive... he'd made it clear that he wasn't going to give even him any more than that. No, he wouldn't be able to see her, speak to her, find her...and nothing Matty had thrown at him....tears, anger, pleading, threats...nothing...had swayed him. It had hurt, Murphy'd felt it from him, and that hurt had made him short with Matthew, snapping "she's gone. Forget her." before slamming from the room, his guilt washing back over them like a ships wake.

Over time, Murphy knew, Matty...if he survived, and Murphy was increasingly sure he would...would only become more insistent, more persistent, and Connor would have his hands full trying to get away with that 'forget her'.

If he were to be honest, he himself would probably, eventually, need to get it out of him, but for now he could let it rest. It didn't rest easy...a fidgety, uncomfortable acceptance, but it would do. For now.

Fidgety and uncomfortable....him, now, many hours without a cigarette, and he'd just begun to think he'd have to go smoke when he heard the whisper of the door, felt his brother walk in, tentative as he almost always was, now.

Though Murphy was long since over any anger at his brother for the shot at his head, the gun butt to his face that had broken bones and teeth...Connor still wasn't...was still horrified at his own rage and violence, his own momentary hatred.

That he'd done it in defense of a child...his child...had allowed it to settle in Murphy. Not so, Connor, who still winced every time he looked at his brother.

Still, hesitant though it was, Connor’s touch on his back felt good...comforting...and he leaned back into it a little, one of a billion little gestures letting Connor know it was all ok, everything forgiven that needed to be. Someday, he knew, there would be enough to convince him.

"He doin ok?"

Connor’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, bringing a smile. The kid slept like granite, but Connor seemed to live in perpetual fear of waking him.  
When he answered, he spoke out loud, stifling the little laugh as his brother flinched.

"He's good. I'm not much worried anymore. I was gonna go smoke, you want to come with?"

"No. Murph, I'll stay with him for a bit..."

They'd developed a 24/7 vigil habit they knew they didn't need any longer, found themselves unable to let go.

"Bodhi's waiting outside, he has something to show you."

There was an uneasiness coming off Connor that Murphy didn't much like.

"What's up?"

"Nothing to worry about I don't think. Strange though. Go with Bodhi. Go see."

Curious, vaguely uneasy, he spared a final glance at Matthew. Still out...way under, the sense of him nothing but gentle white noise. Wondering, not for the first time, what he dreamed, he left them and went to find Bodhi.


	67. Chapter 67

"What is this place, Bodhi?"

"I think it's where Matty's been living."

Confusion creased Murphy’s brow as his eyes took in the space.

"He didn't live with Maura?"

"Nope, not since he was tiny. I always figured she was just farming him out. He stayed with me a couple weeks at a time, here and there. And with Terry. Lots of times with Elena, but I just checked with them. It's been a couple years since any of us have had him. I think he stayed here."

"Alone?"

"I think so. I'm not sure but nobody I've asked has had him, or stayed anywhere with him...look around. I've never seen anyplace so...weird."

Weird it was, it was absolutely that, if not outright madness made tangible.

Every new discovery increased his mingled fascinated unease.

On the surface, a huge room. Ballroom huge, and what it could have been meant for eluded completely. 

Beneath the surface....

His hands ran along a wall, oddly cheap veneer with no place until he realized it wasn't a wall at all, but doors, opening into a refrigerator large enough to stand in, filled with milk, juice, soda...

"Check the dates, Murphy. The use bys"

He did, found nothing not dated 2008. Nothing older, nothing more recent.

"2008? It's all of it six years gone by."

"There's a huge cabinet of canned and boxed stuff, too. Same year, all of it. The shelf stable stuff is mostly ok even that old, but the cold stuff? I hope he wasn't eating it. Keep looking, you'll see. Stuff in the freezer is the same.2008. Least it's frozen. But there's a whole lot more weird going on. Look around."

He did as asked, each discovery more bizarre than the last.

Partitioned off, there were obvious living, sleeping, playing and bathroom areas that seemed fairly ordinary, surrounded by areas that defied reason.

A section given over to shelf upon shelf of one piece, footed pajamas...all in adult sizes from XS to 4XL.  
Hundreds of piles of them. Nothing a child...or less than an army of adults...would have had any use for.

Partitioned off the pj's, an entire section dedicated to bins of neckties, one bin ominously labelled DO NOT TOUCH EVER!

"What's in here, a bomb?"

"Nope. Just ties."

"The fuck...what's...Zen garden?"

He'd found what was, in Bodhi’s opinion, the strangest artifact the room held, an entire section given over to an enormous, Lucite sandbox, filled with sand so white it gleamed, layered with metallic glints, dark spots, oddnesses.

Unable to help himself, he had to touch it, hearing Bodhi’s laugh as he reached out, clearly having done the same.

"What are....keys??"

His fingers sifted through silk fine sand mixed with hundreds upon hundreds of skeleton keys, some clearly ancient, incredibly beautiful.

He'd have found it charming had he not seen the notebook, chained to the wall, page after closely written page...years’ worth.

KEY COUNT

"Key...someone counts them?"

"Someone did, anyway. Every day. Look at the total."

"Seven twenty. Bodhi what the fuck! Somebody counted seven HUNDRED keys in a sandbox every day?!"

"And twenty. Yep. And it gets stranger. Give that here."  
He riffled back a few pages and handed it back.

"Read the note."

"Why are....two keys missing?"

It started to nudge at him, then. Keys. Keys in the sand. Keys in the sand....the nudge became memory.

"Oh... Bodhi, was this...this was Maura who did this?"

"I think so. I mean....not Matty, so..."  
"What else is in here?"

"Well...that section there is seashells. There's one somewhere in here that's all empty Guinness bottles. One is socks. All red. One is cigarette packs. They get weirder the further toward the middle of the room you go. Bullets. Guns. Language textbooks. Seems like there are collections around the edge, getting in toward the center it's like...themes. One is decorated for Christmas. One looks like a post office. One is a bar. The bottles are all empty but it's a bar. A kennel. A hotel room. I didn't exactly explore so I don't know what all else..."

He'd been watching the color drain from Murphy’s face, knew these things meant something to him.

"You ok, Murphy?"

He ignored the question, shot back his own.

"Why do you think he lived here?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"What's the obvious?"

"Murphy, the numbers. I haven't counted the ties, or the pajamas or the dishrags but I'd place a bet on seven twenty, all of them. If it was 2008 we'd be crowded out. And of you come around here...."

"Have you noticed this place is set up in a spiral?"

"I hadn't, but Connor did. And dead center of the spiral...well, look and see."

"Oh geez...fuckin Christ..."

The little room at the center of the spiral contained nothing strange, but for its placement. A twin sized bed, messy...unmade but clean, a dresser full of clothes he recognized, a scattering of typical six year old boy detritus.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his skin bumped into gooseflesh, weird now giving way, for some indefinable, intangible reason to terrifying.

"Bodhi...I'm outta here, man, you want to hang out and count pebbles that's cool, but..."

"No, I'm with you. It's fucking creepy. There's no straight shot out, seems like you have to spiral in, spiral out. Which of course might be the meaning behind that..."

Letters, huge, painted on the wall.

"What... what the fuck is that? Come on, hurry up. I really don't like it in here."

"Lateralus. I don't know what the word actually means, but it's a Tool song with a repeating lyric 'spiral out. Keep going.'"

"Great. I really have to get out of here. This stuff...it...some of it rings a bell. Why the numbers, though...."

"Matty’s birthday."

"Why, when is it?"

"July 20th, 2008."

"Oh...oh man....fuck. She really was afraid of him. She...she KEPT him in the center of a...a talismanic spiral...."

They hit the corridor, closing the door behind them with tandem sighs of relief.)

"Like a ghost trap."

"Like a ghost trap. She went insane when she had him, didn't she."

"I think so."

There was such misery in his voice it stopped Murphy cold, brought his gaze to Bodhi’s, surprised to see him blinking back tears.

"Bodhi, what?"

He tried to turn away, forced gently back by Murphy's hand on his face.

"Tell me."

"I was with her, Murphy. The whole time. Since before she even had him. She was happy about it, Murphy. Because he was yours and she LOVED you. I never saw this coming, never saw it happening. I didn't ever know...I loved her, too, y'know. This...this wasn't in her Murphy! It wasn't!"

Truly crying now, he shook Murphy off, started down the hall.

"I was with her ALL the time, do you get me? All the time. When did she do this? The middle of the night?"

"When you stopped being with her all the time."

Bodhi’s meaning not lost on him, he understood the depth of his loss. It was, after all, his own as well.

"What happened that separated you?"

"I've never known. It wasn't you, I can see you're thinking that. And it wasn’t Matty. She left to go to Oregon...we were opening up a house there. She left him with me and everything was fine. She came back...and took him. She broke things off with me, no reason she could tell me and started leaving him around with people. Never me, never again unless someone else was around. At first I thought she for some reason didn’t trust me, but she wouldn't be alone with him either."

"She was already afraid of him."

"I didn't get that. But she still LIVED with me, Murphy. I should have seen it..."

"How old was he?"

"Two. What does..."

"Had he done anything yet?"

"He's never DONE anything."

"No...not anything wrong, I don't mean that. Like me and Connor."

"Murphy...ALWAYS. From birth I swear to you, he knew how people felt. Even before he could talk he'd know if we were sad, or sick....he's a sweet little guy, Murphy, he always had been. He knows what people need...how could that drive her to..."

They'd reached his place, neither particularly aware that had been where they were going, and he broke off, fishing around for his keys, struggling for control as he let them in, grateful that Murphy picked up the tale of his sentence, unsure if words were even possible anymore. He was going, he felt it, and it scared him.

"I don't know. There’s more to it. But...it's done. We can maybe figure it out, maybe not, but...Bodhi..."

It was too much, he couldn't stand here watching this boy fight this meltdown anymore.

"Bodhi...before we worry about her, or Matty, or anybody else..."

He pushed him, gently, to sit...sat down next to him and pulled him close.

"First you. Christ knows, you've been through even more than we have...our being here hasn't done any of you any favors, you least of all."

He felt it, then, the blast of indignant love, fury that he'd dare to suggest his presence was anything other than right, understood this boy loved him...not because he was hard wired to love him, but just because he did, understood his guilt...he hadn't loved Maura for her, he'd loved her because she'd been close to Murphy, loved Matthew for himself, true, but more because he was partly Murphy and understood just how useless anymore words would be.

He pulled him in, fingers tangled in his hair...long Connor habit he seemed helpless to control, and held him, let him cry...felt a response he hadn't expected, knowing he was treading treacherous waters, that it was mutual.

Well...if that was what it was, that was what it would be. For now, it was comfort.

He held on tighter, didn't let go.


	68. Chapter 68

"Hey, Murphy when are you getting a Christmas tree?"

Even had the question not been completely alien, he was nowhere near awake enough for the words to register as intelligent language.

Somewhere in the limbo between sleep and waking....a place he'd never spent much time but increasingly felt he lived in....his synapses tried to fire, stalling once or twice as the question repeated, finally sparking into a sludgey awareness as a hand swatted his cheek...harder than a pat, not quite the smack he sensed it wanted to be.

Patented Matthew.

"Hey MURPHY."

"What? What. Why are you here? What time is it?"

"Open your eyes."

"Are you really waking me up to sound all exasperated? What'd you just ask me?"

"Why don't you have a Christmas tree?"

"What do I need a Christmas tree for?"

"Um...Christmas?"

The unspoken 'you idiot' rang like a bell in his voice, making Murphy grin in spite of being the idiot in question.

The kid was a piece of work, no doubt.

He watched him flit off to find something the thought "he moves like a big firefly" roaming somewhat randomly through his head.

All in all, he didn't think Matty looked too bad. Way too pale, still... spider webs of blue veins tracking his cheeks, dark shadows coal black under his eyes...and much too thin, every bone still clearly visible, but up and moving, alert, aware, and far more energetic than Murphy would ever be again.

All things considered, he played out better than Murphy did himself... just as wan, just as gaunt, eyes just as deep shadowed...and far less inclined to get up and dart around the room.

Well...they were both still healing, they'd both catch up to themselves eventually.

"Look."

He'd buzzed back into Murphy's space, thrust a store flyer into his face.

"This is Christmas stuff, Murphy. Chris....mas."

Yawning, still a little out of it, a little confused, he reverted to his earlier query.

"Why are you here waking me up?"

"Connor let me in. Are you getting up?"

"If I have to."

"You do. Connor said to ask you about a tree."

"Is it Christmas? I haven't paid any attention to it in...a really really long time."

Again came the look, the unspoken commentary on his intellect, and he found himself responding on a level that more or less confirmed it, even to him.

"I'm to sit here being looked at like I'm a moron by a six year old?"

"I'm seven."

"Shut up."

"Are you getting a tree?"

"Why do I need one? Did you hassle Bodhi like this?"

"I didn't have to, he got one by himself. Murphy..."

"You got one at home, you're over here hassling me? Why? You spending Christmas with us or something?"

"Only if you get a tree."

"Really, you are?"

It struck him, all at once, as the most unbelievably cool idea to come down the pike in years.

"Alright. I'll get one. Do I have to like....buy you stuff?"

"Yep."

"Alright. Probably I'll suck at it y'know."

"Connor'll help you."

"Yeah, I guess he will at that. Bodhi with you?"

"Yep. You want me to get him?"

"I do."

He laughed a little, watching him go, wishing one of what would be hundreds of times that he could just keep him.

That'd been a loss he'd had to fight for, ironic though it seemed.

With Matthews recovery had come the practical issue of what to do with him. Under no circumstances was he going anywhere near that insane room...a catalogue of someone else’s memories, Murphy knew, some of them his....and everyone's default seemed to Murphy.

That the thought of caring for a child terrified him had been the least of the issues leading to his...hard won...refusal.

He couldn't do it. Emotionally difficult enough...Maura’s insanity something he could only pin on himself, and something that ached in him every time he looked at the kid...the practicalities were daunting.

Though his days running the streets meting out justice with the barrel of a gun had come to an end, his nature wouldn't let him let it go, and he spent most days working in tandem with Connor and Collin...them analyzing data and probability from a mathematical perspective, him gauging emotional responses and likelihoods from the human end of the spectrum...dispatching people to deal with situations as needed...and it was still Connor, often, who went out there.

His initial refusal "He can't come live with a couple of hit men!" had been brushed aside with the logical response that he already lived in a houseful of hit men and the people who protected them.

The argument had raged for hours...Connor dead against him. He'd fallen for the kid almost instantly and genuinely wanted him...couldn't begin to understand why Murphy didn’t...the subtleties of Murphy’s emotional weather somewhat lost on him.

"It's not that I don't love him, Conn."

"Then why don't you want him?"

Night after night, the same thing.

"It's not that I don't want him. I DO want him. It's that I CAN'T do it. I can't do it mentally...at least not yet. And I've got you clicking out every other day already, what'm I supposed to do with that and a kid full time?"

"It's not that often."

"It's close."

It was. The emotional toll of all this had been even rougher on Connor, who'd been forced to do all the dirty work, after all, and who's guilt over killing Ira...who he'd come to believe was as congenitally insane as her sister...and locking Maura away from everyone when, in his opinion, the evidence that she'd quite lost her mind made her...hell both of them... blameless in his....was eating at him constantly, unendingly, and his periods of complete withdrawal were coming thick and fast.

That these blank periods weren't, in fact, void...were really the only way he had to heal himself, shutting out the world and reality until he could cope again....had become clear to them both slowly, and not without panic along the way, but it didn't make it any less difficult to deal with.

Connor...lost in his mind....healing yes, sure, but still checked out...was a total care situation, and while for Murphy it was nothing he'd ever think twice about doing, he couldn't...KNEW he couldn't...handle Connor in that state, and a child who's needs were just as intense.

And physically, though he hated to admit it, he could barely keep up with himself, sometimes even dealing with his twin pushing him to the end of his strength.

Hard for him to own, harder still for Connor to accept…was there anything harder than the fragility of someone you loved?...it was fact.

"I can't keep up with him, Conn. And he needs too much. When he's running around he's fine, I mean...he's exhausting but it's ok...but when his shit goes out on him I can't even pick him up."

It had been an argument everyone had had to concede to.

Matthew’s damage was considerable, despite his "miraculous"....a word that made the twins laugh every time they heard it, prompting Connor, once, to scoff; "Miraculous. Read MacManus."...recovery, and even medicated he had a tendency to suddenly lose all muscle tone...falling into a boneless heap for varying periods of time.

Murphy's point had been valid.

"It's tough enough for me to pick him up when he can help me. When he's like that it's like trying to pick up a 50lb jellyfish! You think he appreciates me dropping him on his face? Or leaving him on the floor?"

And of course the twins themselves were an issue that both of them had to admit might be too weird...and too socially inappropriate...for a kid to deal with.

"We sleep together, Connor. It may not seem weird to us, or the rest of them...but how do we explain that to a kid?"

"He's your kid, Murph, I doubt we'd ever have to."

"Yeah, well it's creepy to think about. He's in our heads too much. I don't want him catching any of that, and if he's here all the time he will."

"Well, Murphy...there's other people. We don't HAVE to..."

"Shut up. It's not the same. And it won't change, you know that."

It wasn't. And it wouldn't. Though their core soul had spread from just them to include Bodhi, Terry and Collin...and there was a fair amount of frequent and casual sex between them all in various combinations...they always defaulted to each other and always would.

"He's eventually gonna be out there in the world, Conn. Now that he officially exists. Sooner or later it's bound to happen. You think he's gonna be content to spend his life in one house? He'll want to be out there, eventually. This thing we have...it may be fine with us, fuck, you're right, he's my kid...it might even be fine with him...but it won't be out there in reality. All it would take is one unfortunate word and some authority would yoink him outta here...he can't live with us, Connor."

They'd argued it for days, the group of them, arguments turning to fights, fights to tears, tears to kisses....and for a group of almost preternaturally smart men it had taken them forever to reach the obvious solution.

"Why don't I take him?"

The midst of the endless cyclical fussing about what to do with this little boy they all loved, and finally, for one of them, the fog lifted.

"I lived with him till he was two, I'm with him all the time, I know his medical issues and unlike Murphy I'm not an old fucking invalid..."

"Fuck off..."

"Fact! But I love him, and I'd like to take him. BUT."

"But?"

"He's your son, Murphy. That means he's yours as much as you can handle, you and Connor. I don't want to TAKE him."

It had been Connor who'd jumped on that.

"We'd not let you TAKE him."

And, so, released from the hospital he'd gone home with Bodhi, settled himself a place there, seemingly happy to flutter between home A, Bodhi’s house, and the home B he'd taken for himself without a bit of consultation, Connor and Murphy’s house.

So far it had worked.

Untested in any time of stress, the situation was about to be put to its first real test.

Murphy knew...he'd never be able to explain how, or why...it had just been something in the look on his face...as soon as Bodhi walked in, just exactly what was coming.


	69. Chapter 69

"How does he seem, Bodhi? Hey why you have that face on?"

It had become almost ritual, the three of them around the table intensely working out the fate of this child through a permanent cloud of smoke....the more high tension the conversation the thicker the smoke.

Visibility in the kitchen was pretty clear, at least at the moment, but Murphy knew it wouldn't last.  
Bodhi didn't lose his Zen much, but when he did it showed.

It showed. And he'd sent the kid away, had Connor walk him to Elena’s place. Bad signs.

"Good, he's good, Murphy. Doesn't look it yet, but his weight's coming up. Faster than yours is."

"His jaw wasn't wired shut."

"Point."

"And he can metabolize."

"Point again."

"So what's wrong?"

"I want to wait for Connor. It needs to be all of us. He wants to spend Christmas with you guys, did he tell you? Or...he wants EVERYONE to spend Christmas with you. He thinks you're lonely."

"Lonely? What, me and Connor? Why?"

"I dunno. Not Connor though, just you. He started on me about it last week. Then this whole holiday thing...man I'm out of my element. I haven't paid attention to a holiday since I don't know when. Terry does, always has...he's kinda handling it. You should expect to be invaded, though..."

"Bodhi. Stop."

"What."

"Connor's back, for one, and you're speed rappin nonsense at me. Why're you so nerved up? Conn, siddown. We have a situation."

He knew he'd clicked on...saw it reflected in Bodhi’s increasingly uncomfortable expression...couldn't shut it down. Even now, here, in company trusted and safe, the remnants of the saint in him kicked into play without any voluntary intention.

"Go on, then. We're both here."

"You want to stop looking at me like you might bite me?"

"Would if I could. Tell us."

"He wants to see his mother."

"No."

Connor barked out the word without even the pretense of consideration.

"He isn't going anywhere near her, why would you even bring it up."

Bodhi, more uncomfortable than ever, with nobody to appeal to...facing off against the brothers with no backup....and wow, that had been stupid, he'd expected smarter from himself...could only plow ahead and hope for minimal blood loss.

"He doesn't know where she is, he only has your word, Conn, that she's ok, and honestly...I don't think he's sure he believes you."

Connor, dangerously neutral, stared him down, seemingly daring him to look away.

"And who would he be picking that up from, then? I don't lie...and he knows I don't lie."

"The truth? From all of us, Connor! You've been so secretive about where she is, even Murphy..."

"S'at right. Even Murphy."

"Well what do you expect when you won't tell anyone anything?"

"To be taken at my word, that's what I expect."

"He's seven. Cut him some slack."

"You're not seven, nor Murphy."

"Connor..."

Murphy’s voice came coupled with those stroking Murphy fingers in his mind...easy brother.

"We know you didn't hurt her. At least I do...but yeah, even I don't like not knowing what you DID do. We're neither one of us in the habit of just making people disappear."

"That's exactly what we do!"

"If we KILL them, Connor, yes! Did you kill her, then?"

"You know I didn't."

He seemed to fade a little, right before them, indignation becoming tired misery.

"I just...we all saw what she did to him, she nearly killed him! And that place! She's completely out of her mind and...I wanted to make sure he couldn't...bump into her. Murphy’s friends, there, from the school, they wanted me to have her committed but how do we do that without putting him on display? And Christ, if she ever told anyone what's been done here...how many bodies have you cleaned up, Bodhi? And me and Murph..."

"No, you're right, for any of us the mainstream resources don't really apply. But we have psychiatric care here, Connor, and she's not over there. We all figured you just locked her on three, but she's not down there."

"Bodhi...what is that all about, that floor? It sounded like hell."

"It is hell. It's just housing, Murphy...no treatment...I guess you'd say for our criminally insane....all of you guys who finally lose it and are beyond help."

"Yeah, brother, where we'll end up someday."

"It's not awful in and of itself. We tried to make it good. Comfortable. Warm private shelter, food, whatever amenities they want, company when they want it. It sounds good but they make it hell. Everyone down there is so far gone. But she's not there, we checked. Terry suggested you might have put her with Jordan so we checked there too. He said, and I quote; "If he was lame brained enough to give her to me, she'd have been eaten by now. But he didn't, wanna check my teeth?"  
So....the problem remains. Matthew wants to see her, he wants...NEEDS...to know she's alright, and none of us can honestly even reassure him because we don't know where she is."

"He can't see her. How's he supposed to get over her..."

"He's NOT, Connor. She's his MOTHER. Move past what she did, yes. Get OVER her? You can't just tell him to forget her because he's not going to."

"Bodhi...stop. Back off."

Murphy, tuned in to his twin as always, had felt it start to creep in, icy little rills running through his brothers brain, and so through his, and knew that whatever Connor had done, it was far worse than killing her would have been, that it horrified even him, only his sense of justice...an eye for an eye...allowing him to live with it. The guilt had been there all along, but this conversation had rekindled his doubt, and renewed a fear he'd been fighting since the moment he'd made his decision, a fear so complete and all-encompassing it had become an enormous emotional abscess...festering in there, eating at him like a cancer.

"Conn..."

He pushed his chair into Connor’s and wrapped himself around him... ignoring his brother’s attempt to push him off...leaning in to whisper in his ear, barely audible, almost more thought than word.

"Tell me, brother. I promise you...no judgement, no blame. Get it out, Conn. It's won't be as bad as you think, and it'll all be over in a minute."

When Connor spoke, it was out loud, and close to tears.

"Murphy, it's not like I ate something bad. I can't just vomit it up and be done with it. It's not that fucking easy."

"That's exactly what it is, brother."

He could feel the conflict...guilt over something his brother felt flirted with...maybe crossed into...evil, but also felt right. Felt like justice. Stark terror at his own capability for such an act and even greater fear of what the people he loved would think of him, what Matthew would think of him.

“You want Bodhi to leave, and you can tell just me? He will."

It wasn't a tone Bodhi would have normally argued with, but Connor’s clear war with himself had fired a concern that went far beyond the three of them. If it was as bad as Connor seemed to think, it had to be dealt with. For all of their sakes.

"No, Murphy. Sorry, but...Connor. Just tell us. Whatever you did, you did for the right reasons, there's no doubt in my mind. But you need to tell us. For all of us, but mostly for you. It IS like poison, Connor. This guilt you have..."

"He's not guilty, he's scared, and you need to back off."

"I'm not leaving."

"Then shut up. Connor. Tell me. I KNOW you. Whatever it is, it's not as bad as you're overthinking it is. Don't forget, I can feel what you feel and more than anything you feel RIGHT. You're just scared we won’t."

"I am scared you won’t, you're fucking right I'm scared you won't."

"But Connor...YOU do. So tell me."

"I gave her to Paul."

"You...huh???"

Of all the possible reactions Connor had feared, he'd never even considered the one he got. His brother, far from shocked, sickened, outraged or anything else he'd feared only looked blankly confused, Bodhi’s expression equally clueless.

"I waited till you were checked in, and you were on your way back...and then I...had a talk with Terry. He...erased her...and I drove her over and gave her to Paul. He needed a lab rat."

"Erased...IDENTITY erasure? Terry could be implicated in an identity erasure?! Connor!"

Bodhi’s anger was not that justice had been done...as indeed it had...but that someone in his house, if they hadn't been supernaturally careful, could be brought up on this. 

"Bodhi, he totally expunged her from existence. Her birth was never recorded, her social never was issued. She's disappeared from all record, public and private. School files, medical bills, credit history, deeds, leans, loans, tax records, phone...."

"OK! I get it, everything, quit with the itemized list! I know what erasure is. What about the people in the other houses?"

"Covered. They won't have any reason to ask. It's Terry!"

"And...just how did you know that Paul...would...want her?"

"I asked him. He's researching what makes this happen, she's a whole vault full of genetic information. And no, I didn't ask her. She didn't ask Matty before she tortured him."

"Jesus Christ, Connor! Don't you think you should have told me?! What if I'd fucked it up?! Mentioned her...tried to import help for her?!"

"Did you?"

"No! But..."

"Terry flagged her for damage control."

"Of course he did. Fuuuck...Connor!"

Murphy, conspicuously silent for the entire exchange, abruptly brought the real issue crashing back.

"Connor...human trafficking? Christ Jesus. Is she at least being looked after?"

"I haven't checked. I don't care."

"I'll check. So... what about Matthew?"

"He can't see her."

"Yes he can."

"Bodhi...no. He can't"

"And he's going to. Connor...work it out."


	70. Chapter 70

That it hadn't gone well would have been a mammoth understatement, the only good coming from it the twins’ piece of mind.

It'd been immediately obvious that Paul, far from being a mad scientist practicing shady witchdoctory, was in fact legitimately trying to determine what went awry in these families...what crippled some of the men, while making others virtually indestructible...what drove the women insane.

Other than that, it had been a horrid failure, painful for all of them but Maura, who'd been openly disdainful at best, heartbreakingly cruel to Matthew, at worst.

He hadn't been home ten minutes before the storm hit...no harmless attack of bonelessness....that fairly often left him a helplessly giggling pile of jelly impossible to pick up...all effort on the part of whoever was with him to do so something he found endlessly comical..., but a throwback to what had nearly killed him.

Murphy, sitting with him after, gently rubbing the aches from his fingers and hands, knew at least one question had been answered. Stress, without a doubt, brought this shit on.

Seeing the little boy flinch, he eased up a little, apologizing softly.

"Sorry Matty, it's been a minute since this, huh? That was a bad one..."

"Murphy."

"Hmm?"

"Did my mom do this to me?"

He stopped his gentle pressure, just held the little hand, thinking about it.

"You mean today, or always?"

"Both."

"Yes and no, I guess."

"That doesn't make any sense. Stop touching me, it hurts."

"It hurts, or you just don't like it?"

"Both."

"Both. Hang on."

He went into the kitchen, found Tylenol, apple juice, and the answer he needed in his own mind. He knew it would only open more doors to more uncomfortable questions but...it was time.

He brought in the painkillers, nudging his sons feet out of the way so he could sit.

"Take these."

He waited until the tablets and the juice were gone, quiet until Matthew, as he'd known he would, came back to the question.

"Murphy, how do you mean yes and no? Today she didn't even touch me..."

"I know. Today...I don't suppose you know what 'psychosomatic' means huh?"

"Nope."

"Well...I mean, fuck if I can really explain it right, but today...seeing your mom...you really thought about all this that used to happen, didn't you. Remembered it."

"Really, really remembered it!"

"Yeah. Brains are funny things. Sometimes...especially if it's something upsetting I think...if you think about something too long, or too hard...or worry too much about it...it can happen. You can...worry yourself into it."

"That's what happened today?"

"I think so. So...no, she didn't DO anything today that did it. But...fuck."

"You swear way too much."

"Sue me. I'm trying to think how to explain this so it makes sense."

"Quit touching me."

"No."

"Murphy..."

"Look, don't be an asshole. My hand on your foot is not gonna kill you and I fucking need it. This is some heavy stuff we're about to get into. And don't SIGH at me. Suck it up and listen."

He sighed anyway, but stopped trying to wiggle away.

"Matty, your mom...she didn't give you this problem, exactly. You had it anyway, like I have it."

"You only have it just a little."

"I know, so little I didn't even know it till I met you and Dr. Mike told me. You...only had it a little, too. But what she did...with all the medicines she gave you...they made it a whole lot worse. So...you didn't GET it from her, but she made it worse. So...yes and no."

"Did she know she was making it worse?"

"Oh well fuck...you want an easy lie or a sucky truth?"

"Sucky truth."

"She knew."

"Why'd she do it, Murphy?"

"None of us knows. She doesn't even know. That's what...that's what they're trying to figure out."

"She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like any of us."

"But she's my mom, Murphy."

"I know. But she's a person, Matty, and people...they get weird, sometimes. Things go wrong in their heads. In their souls, even. It sucks for them, and for everyone who loves them."

"But...she's my MOM. Murphy."

"Hmm?"

"You got a mom?"

"Course I have a mom! Haven't you asked me this before?"

"Maybe. How come I never see her?"

"She lives really far away. In Ireland. That's where we're from, me and Connor. Why we sometimes sound like this."

It brought only the ghost of a smile, rather than the full on giggle fit it usually caused, but it was a smile, better than none.

"Was she a good mom?"

"She was. But she was still people, Matty. She drank a lot...she swore even more than me and Connor put together...she fucked things up sometimes. We all do."

"Did she like you?"

"Not always."

"Does she now?"

"I guess so. I haven't talked to her in a while. Probably she's pissed. She'd like you, though. A lot."

"Why? She like kids or somethin?"

"Nope. But she'd like you..."

He knew they'd degenerated into weird small talk. Seven and forty six and yet they managed to stall on an identical level. They both wanted it out, neither wanted to be the one to lay it on the table. Forgivable in a child, cowardly in a grown man, but there it was. When it came to this, he was a coward and he'd never deny it.  
A dozen men with guns didn’t frighten him half as much as one little boy.

"Murphy."

"Hmm."

"Look at your fingers, and mine."

Knotted up, in a familiar pattern, something Connor had always called a Murphyism. Matty’s tangled too, and almost identical.

"Murphy, can you undo 'em?"

"Sure."

He showed him, effortlessly opening and relaxing his hand.

"I can't"

"Hm."

He reached out, favoring his son with a glare that dared him to fuss about being touched, and untangled his fingers.

"Murphy."

"Hmm."

"How come they were the same?"

"Same problem. I don't mean to do it, it just happens. Just mine don't get stuck."

"You said I didn't get this from my mom, she just made it worse. That it was like you, before."

"I did."

"Murphy."

"Hmm."

"Did I get it from you?"

He didn't anticipate the freeze of anxiety that would lock him up, holding his words hostage.  
He'd opened the door to this....now that it was here he wasn't sure he'd be able to answer.  
His head felt full of white noise...what terror sounded like, he thought...as he looked at his child.

Cool blue eyes stared into his, watching...waiting him out, beginning to show white around the edges as Murphy’s continued silence cranked his anxiety.

"Murphy."

He couldn't answer. COULDN'T. Every bit of his soul wanted to speak...words just wouldn't come.

"Murphy."

Nothing. Christ.

"Murphy are you like...stuck?"

So stuck. So stuck, though not for the reason Matthew thought. This was the frozen verge of the irrevocable...telling Matty the truth just the beginning of the painful knowledge he'd been keeping to himself that would have to be revealed. Could he do this?

He was allowed no more time to think about it. He felt the couch move and himself with an unexpected lap full of seven year old boy, small hands grasping both sides of his face...there would be no turning away.... eyes...now filling with tears as well as stress...staring into his.

"Murphy...please? Just tell me. Did I get this from you?"

He unlocked all in a rush, the tears in those eyes more powerful than any fear.

"Yeah, Matty, I guess you did."

"Murphy."

"Hmm?"

"Does that mean you're my dad?"

He felt his own tears start...because God help him there was no going back now and the curse and blessing of what would come from this were equal. Once he said it...he knew...he'd have agreed to the inevitable.

His whole life...in this one, bright, heart stopping moment...about to be given over.

"Yeah Matty. That's what it means."


	71. Chapter 71

"What is it, Murphy?"

He'd been quiet all night. Pensive. Brooding.

Connor had first been inclined to put it down to thoughtfulness, but there was something too sad in the shadow of his eyes, too defeated in the tilt of his head. Something was on his mind, something beyond...or perhaps adjacent to...what he'd told Matthew. Connected to it...but sad.

"Murphy, come on."

He dropped down next to him, smiling at Murphy’s immediate shift to settle into him.

It felt good to have him back, to have him close, to feel normal again...the wild, crazed anger and violence of the last several weeks fading along with his brothers bruises, disappearing forever the morning they'd finally snipped the wires that held his broken jaw shut...the first thing he'd done was pull Connor down into his arms and kiss him...long and hard and deep, tangled in him as if he'd never...ever...let him go.

All wounds between them healed in a day, as easy as breathing...they'd turned off the phones, locked the doors, and opened the windows into the warm summer air...the whole day a beautiful blur of sunlight, hot breezes and the endless grit of traffic on the street beneath them as they kissed...lingering, sweet...touched...first so soft, so tentative...unsure of each other in those first few moments...daring playful, finally...sure that the anger was really gone...harder, then, urgent...no sweet playfulness in them, just raging, aching, hungry need....everything in them, all at once, touching, stroking, scratching, kissing, licking, sucking, biting EVERYTHING at once, coming...drifting...coming again...sometimes together...more often one bringing the other, watching each other come undone.

They'd slept in that old, familiar tangle, for the first time in forever and Connor had felt the beginnings of something like peace.

As days passed, the unthinkable had happened.

He'd begun to relax.

It hadn't felt fragile.

It had felt right.

Now, it felt threatened. It felt like glass.

The shattering of this delicate peace, the first spider cracks of unease, had appeared when he'd come home to find Murphy and Matthew asleep together on the sofa...uncharacteristic for Matthew, who still detested any prolonged physical contact...he had to be tolerating it for Murphy’s sake...both faces pinched and tearstained, both tense, clench fisted and tight knuckled even in sleep.

He knew the truth was out, had known it was coming when the wave of panic had come down the line, had known as soon as it was told, and had caught a strange, fleeting rush of sadness from his brother, eclipsed by relief almost before he noticed it.

He'd pulled back... wanting them to have some privacy with this new revelation...and had wished he hadn't almost as soon as he'd laid eyes on them.

He'd woken Matty as gently as he could, puzzled further by the wistful, lingering gaze the little boy had cast on Murphy...longing, affection, love....but so, so sad.

A heart’s desire he could never have....but why? Murphy was nothing if not his for the taking, heart and soul.

He hadn't said much on the walk back home, and Connor...wisely...hadn't pushed. It had been a hell of a hard day, and he supposed there was really no reason finding out who Murphy was would have made it any easier. Just another blow to absorb.

The suspicion that it was more than that had come with Matthew’s unexpected embrace as he'd been leaving...sudden and sweet, loving and long, obviously...oddly for this little boy...comfort seeking. He clearly didn't want Connor to let him go, and so he'd held him...hugged him...until he'd broken contact on his own, given Bodhi an equally clingy hug, and taken himself to bed.

Maybe just a rough day...but he didn't think so.

And now Murphy...in the window for most of the evening, brooding and melancholy...close and warm, now, but still clouded in, still not talking.

"Murphy, talk to me."

He didn't answer, kissed him instead...slipping into those soft, intense Murphy touches that kept him riding the verge for hours, driving him insane, holding him hostage.

Nobody's fool, he knew he was being distracted, and making him come by no means made him forget.

"So..."

He leaned up on one arm, looking down into his brother’s face.

"You gonna tell me what's on your mind or you gonna make me go in after it?"

"Oh, I'd like to see you try."

"Murphy...come on. Just talk to me."

"How come you don't just know?" 

"Because you're not letting me."

"No?"

"No. Murphy..."

"It wasn't an easy day, Conn. It fuckin sucked."

"I know. But you and Matty both...you're both just SAD, Murphy."

"I'm not. Does it seem like it?"

"It does."

"Come outside with me."

They climbed out Murphy’s window...for it had become that, one more checkmark on the list that made this home...onto the fire escape, armed with cigarettes, whiskey and each other, moonlight playing against the traffic lights below them, reflecting beautifully on Murphy’s face, dropping years, and Connor found himself seized with the desire to freeze this moment...make it just a little longer...

But he'd asked Murphy to talk to him, and now, with whiskey and smoke, he did. 

"I won't speak for Matty, but me...I'm not sad, Connor. It's not that...there's just...this whole time we've been here, I've been wondering why. I mean....it's been one thing after another, and it seems like...I don't know...God's out to get us or something."

"It hasn't always?"

"Not like this. It's been so...malicious. Deliberate.

Not at first...finding out Bodhi survived, that was right, y'know? And I don't even count that whole fucked up mess with me...I mean, that was just us being stupid. Not knowing enough to put ourselves out even though we were on fire. But since then it's like everything's been some really mean...senseless...joke.

Ira. She's great, we trust her...and then the universe jumps in. 'Juuust kidding. She's really a crazy bitch who's gonna fuck up your world. But hey! Maura's still alive, isn't that cool? Ha! JK! She's missing! So's Bodhi, you didn’t like him did you? Fuckin hope not! But don't worry, cuz you're at least safe here....oh wait...I lied....you're totally not, and oh yeah did I mention you're a genetic freak and so is everyone else here? It's a kickass story though, kinda like a family legend, you're gonna love it....mostly it's bullshit but some of it's pretty wild...oh btw, Maura had a kid. Cute kid, you'll like him. He's yours, by the way, congrats! But guess what! He's aaaaaall fucked up....'"

"Murphy..."

"You asked. You wanted to know what was on my mind...this is what’s on my mind. Just this whole avalanche of shit all over us....Maura comes back but she's bugfuck NUTS, you're shooting people and selling people..."

"I didn't SELL anyone"

"...erasing them like Nowhere Man for fuck sake...and I've just been stuck on...why did any of this happen? I mean...look where it's GONE. Why'd we even come here? What good did it do anyone? Since we've been here one person has died, ones locked up in the dungeon, one's been....donated to science....and a little kid's been tortured, permanently damaged, essentially orphaned...I've had my guts rearranged, all KINDS of medical sabotage, my jaw broken, and I got...cold enough...to use my own kid to bait a trap set for his MOTHER....and you, you're so fucked up you're catatonic half the goddamn time, you almost killed me...and you know you did, you had that gun at my head and you fired, Connor. If I hadn't knocked your hand....you came to that point, Conn...where you even hated ME. Being here brought you to that. Brought US right to the edge...and for what? That's what's on my mind. Gimme a fuckin smoke, yeah?"

"Forgive me, Murph...here...but this manic rant isn't what's had you all mooded out all night. You're still trying to distract me. I mean...I believe you've had all this on your mind, I have too, but you're just blowin smoke up my ass right now. So....again...Murphy. Brother. What is it?"

"I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"Why we're here. I think I might've tapped into your wavelength a little, because it kind of fell together like a big puzzle. Y'know, this shits gonna fuck me right up...you know how long it's been since I had a drink?"

"Why're we here, Murphy?"

"I don't understand why you don't just know! I'm NOT shutting you out."

"Well...I have no idea. Might be you're just gonna have to tell me."

"Yeah, but why?"

"Does it have to do with Matthew?"

"What's that..."

"Your son, Murphy. He's a lot more like you than you realize. Do you EVER know what I'm thinking about him? You don't, do you. Think about it."

"I...do you think about him?"

"All the time. I love him like he's you, Murphy."

"Do you? That's good...that's...you get nothing from me that has to do with him, then?"

"White noise."

"He's BLOCKING us?"

"I think he might be. If not him...something. So Murphy...for the love of CHRIST brother...stop stalling and just tell me."

"Connor...it's long."

"We got somewhere to be?"

"I...I think we're here...and everything happened the way it did...because you and him, you have to be together when I'm gone, and I had to...kind of...hand off to him. I think...no, I know...I did that today when I...well I didn't TELL him, exactly...he knew. I just confirmed it...but..."

"MURPHY. What do y'mean when you're gone? Where is it you're going, then?"

"Nowhere just yet. It'll be a while, still. Connor, I don't know if I HAVE words for this that will make sense."

"Just start at the start and tell me what you figured out. Don't rush it, just tell me however you can and don't worry about it making sense. I can translate from Murphy to English quite well, if y'hadn't noticed."

"Maybe we're blocking ourselves, Connor."

"Maybe we are."

"Did you just sigh at me?"

"I'm about to throw you off this fire escape."

"Ok, ok. Fuck. Sorry. Connor...you won't like where it goes."

"So far, it's not going anywhere."

"Alright! Listen..."


	72. Chapter 72

Silence had held sway on the fire escape long enough to become uncomfortable, and Connor knew he'd have to break it soon, even if only to keep his brother from nodding off out here.

A casual observer would have thought it already too late...Murphy certainly gave every appearance of unconsciousness. Arms crossed on his knees, head resting on his arms, all that hair hanging down, covering his face, whiskey bottle, now holding no more than an inch of amber colored liquid, dangling loosely in his grasp.

Connor, unfooled, knew a sham when he saw one. He was still holding the bottle. He was still awake.

It had been quite a story he'd told, becoming more ramblingly incoherent as the whiskey took hold, and Connor supposed...knowing his brother’s mind as well as he knew his own...that if you were Murphy it all made complete sense. In Murphy’s head, the pieces fit perfectly, seamlessly.

From Connor’s perspective, it was utter bullshit, completely cracked, and his silence now was an effort not to respond with his typical instinctive derision of Murphy’s more whacked out theories.  
Every response that tried to escape him were variations on "Are y'nuts, y'fucking idiot?" and he knew that, while typical, and even expected, this time it would hurt and Murphy already hurt enough.

He believed this crazy, twisted conclusion he'd drawn. Believed it, and was already grieving everything and everyone he was convinced he'd be leaving behind.

Sighing, knowing he wouldn't be the one to talk him out of it....when Murphy got one of these schizy ideas Connor was the last one he'd listen to, and why that was Connor would never know...he watched him a moment longer, marveling at how beautiful he was, body, heart and soul.

God, but he loved him.

"Murphy. You still awake?"

He knew he was, hoped he wouldn't pretend otherwise.

"I'm awake."

"I knew you were."

He got up, wincing at the aches as he moved...how long had they been out here?...and relocated completely into his brothers space, full contact before Murphy could even begin to think of pulling away.

"Oh Murphy..."

The weariness in his voice pulled Murphy’s eyes to his, flashing concern, and Connor reached up, brushing long hair from his face, his hand pausing on his cheek.

"God, I love you."

He moved closer, foreheads touching, voice now so soft it was almost a whisper.

"There's one enormous hole in your logic, brother."

He kissed him, then, lingeringly, longingly, and felt Murphy’s arm hook around his neck, tightening, pulling them closer.

"You, Murphy..."

He broke the kiss to speak, smiling at Murphy’s little whine of complaint; "...can never, EVER be replaced. You are utterly irreplaceable, and there will never be anyone who ever comes close. Not your child, not your clone, nobody."

He kissed him again, just as slow, just as sweet.

"You're not gonna die, Murphy, though..."

He pulled away a bit and retrieved the bottle still in Murphy’s hand.

"Come morning I don't doubt you'll wish you were."

He set it aside, looking again at his brother with completely overwhelmed affection, felt it flowing between them, running over them, through them, and kissed him again, harder, longer, heard Murphy’s urgent little moans...inwardly surprised...he'd thought it unlikely Murphy could feel much of anything after so much alcohol...and felt his own jeans suddenly become uncomfortably, stranglingly tight.

"God, Murphy..."

"I know."

Murphy was no longer just responding. Connor’s kisses had ignited something in him, something denied for too long, buried in stressed out, speculative, anxiety...in despairing grief for everything that might have been, in fear, pain, grief, and...ultimately...loss. The loss of everything that had ever made him who he was, who he felt he had to be, an entire identity up in smoke, and a brother who could do things he'd never believed him capable of...swamping him, drowning him....everything swept aside now by the look of unbridled love in Connor’s eyes, the utter truth in his voice, the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth.

Desire surged in him, burning...consuming, and he pushed against him, kissing back hard, one hand slipping up under his shirt, the other pressing the bulge in his jeans, Connor’s hissing groan suddenly branding him, white hot, molten.

His fingers scrambling frantically at Connor’s belt brought coherency back to Connor in a flash, and he pinned his brother’s hands.

"Easy, brother. We're on the fire escape. Y'can't be pullin our clothes off out here."

Murphy, undaunted and completely out of control, shook off the restraint, buried his face in Connor’s neck, biting, sucking. "Don't care...doesn't matter. God, Connor..."

His mouth and hands were everywhere, and Connor’s resolve to avoid sex on the fire escape met a hasty demise when Murphy, in a marvel of drunken coordination, somehow managed to divest both of them of their jeans in something under a minute, wrapping himself around his brother...

The night became surreal, a blur of lips, tongues, hands, nails teeth...Connor gasping barely holding back at the delicate, feather touch of Murphy's fingernails on his cock, teasing, verging on painful, replaced without warning by his mouth, licking, sucking....

"Stop, Murphy! Stop!"

"N'want you t'come..."

"Not yet."

Murphy, just as overwhelmed, sensation on top of sensation as Connor’s teeth found his nipples, his fingers skating over his balls, pulling little spirals of almost orgasm somewhere from the base of his spine to his navel. "My god, what're you DOING? Jesus Connor..."

Both of them at the verge, they stopped, suddenly and in tandem, nothing spoken, the knowledge simply there. There would be no easy hand jobs tonight, no sucking each other off in the moonlight. All or nothing and they both knew it, needed it.

"Here, Murphy? Are y'sure?"

"Now, Conn. Come on...oh my GOD!"

Connor’s fingers, sliding inside him, his mouth grinning against his lips.

"Don't you come yet, Murphy."

"Stop fooling around then and fuck me!"

His lips crashed into Connor’s, teeth, tongue, hands urgent and demanding.

"Come on, Connor, come on...like this, I want to see you."

He'd been excited to discover, years ago, that they could fuck facing each other...it seemed so much more personal, so much more intimate, looking up into his brother’s face, watching him come, holding on to him rather than staring at a wall or a floor, braced on something inanimate and cold, and it was the only sexual disparity between them. Connor found it awkward, frustratingly lacking in leverage, and altogether unsatisfying.

Tonight, though, tonight there was no other way he would have ever even considered it. He wanted to drown in Murphy's eyes, feel his hands running over him, his mouth, his teeth...

One inchoate groan later he was in, nothing gradual or careful about it, and they both froze again, throbbing on the edge, holding themselves back, long sweet kisses as they caught their breath, and Connor felt Murphy push against him, groaning into his mouth.

"Fuck...Murphy."

He went, and went hard...the whole nightmare year purged in the white fire burning between them, Murphy reduced to sounds that shook Connor to his core, every thrust bringing a groan that threatened to undo him completely.

"God, what you DO to me...so close Murph, SO fucking close…"

"Come on then, Connor, come on. Come. I can't hold back anymore...oh...god…oh my fucking GOD Connor!"

It started somewhere deep, spiraling up and out, burning, high pitched, laser light, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, nothing he'd ever felt before, knew by Connor’s "oh! Oh fuck! Oh Christ...." that it was happening to him too.

They didn't so much come, as somehow detonate, out of and into each other in blazing, throbbing waves, uncoiling from deep within, breaking and foaming between them, diminishing pulses that went on and on, leaving them breathless and clinging, both still caught in the aftershocks, little hisses and gasps as they each came a little bit more, a little bit again...

"My fucking god, Murphy."

"What the FUCK was that?"

"Fucking amazing."

They clung a few minutes more, parting only reluctantly as cogency returned and they realized, once again, that they were naked on the fire escape.

They found their jeans, Connor noting with no little amusement that, as easily as Murphy had undressed them both, redressing himself was proving inordinately challenging as the sexual rush fled and monumental drunkenness took hold.

"Feelin that whiskey, brother, yeah?"

"Shut up."

Even that was slurred, and Connor found himself wincing in anticipation of morning, and the stupendous hangover he knew would be in effect. It had been an awfully long time since Murphy had had anything to drink, and he found himself wondering, uneasily, if he could even metabolize the stuff anymore what with all of the Ira damage.

Disquiet turned to alarm when his brother plucked the bottle off the rail...no coordination problem there...and downed the remaining inch or so in two easy swallows.

"Christ Murphy! You're aware you drank that whole bottle? Be lucky not to wind up in the emergency room."

"S'fine."

He scooted over to the stairs, settling on the top one, leaning his forehead against the cool metal rail.

"Just c'mere."

Connor obliged, settling next to him, long legs stretched out, and lit up a cigarette, thinking back to the hundreds of nights they'd spent just like this...whiskey and smokes on fire escapes...sometimes with friends, more often alone.

He slipped an arm around his brother and tugged him a little, smiling as Murphy's head settled on his shoulder.

"You're not gonna die, Murphy."

He had to say it again, though he knew it would get him nowhere. Murphy was convinced his life was drawing to a close, his purpose in life, creating a child to replace him so that Connor wouldn't be alone, fulfilled, the revelation of identity to Matthew the passing of some mystical torch paving the way for his son to rise, while he faded.


	73. Chapter 73

"You think I'm crazy."

Murphy’s voice was muffled, face buried in Connor’s neck.

"I don't. I see what you're saying. I just think you're wrong."

"Y'can't do that, s'impossible."

"What's impossible, Murph?"

"See what somebody's saying. Can't be done. You really th..."

He stopped, tried to untangle his tongue. It felt thick, in his mouth, heavy and in the way. "...think I'm irr...irrep...fuck."

"Irreplaceable?"

"That."

"I don't think it. I know it."

"I need to spit out my tongue."

"What? Oh Murphy....you are drunk as a lord. You want to go inside?"

"No."

Inhale. Exhale. The world had started to spin, and he watched it pass by, picking up speed.

"No."

The breeze, cool on his skin made him aware, suddenly, of how cloyingly hot he was, cuddling into Connor like being pressed into a flame and he pulled away, the sudden motion causing a great lurch in reality and equilibrium and he felt himself falling, grabbed blindly, felt Connor’s arms around him, steady but too hot. So hot.

"Don't let me fall…"

"You're not falling."

"So hot...why am I so hot?"

"Cause you're so drunk, Murphy, that's all it is."

"Is it?" Inhale. His mouth seemed full of too much spit, thick and slimy feeling, and he turned away to spit...no good, it kept filling up as soon as he spit it out. Exhale. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe, a high, wracking tightness in his throat threatening to smother him.

"What the fuck is goin'on..."

He sounded confused and miserable, and Connor, again overwhelmed with affection...slightly exasperated this time but just as encompassing...kissed the top of his head.

"A whole bottle of whiskey is what's goin on, brother."

He'd never seen Murphy this confused, though his mind held faint, mixed up memories of himself in such a state, too fucked up to know what was going on, Murphy cheerfully taking care of him, only sparing the very occasional joke at his expense.

"Murph, drunken obliviousness is way more my thing than yours brother." He was unable to help himself. "Welcome to my world."

"Shut up. I can't..."

He spit again, unable to clear his mouth.

"I can't breathe, Connor..."

"You're breathing fine."

He tightened his hold, brushed his brother’s hair from his eyes, took in his sweating, paper pale face and hugged him a little. "You need to throw up?"

"Yes."

"Good. Don't fight it, it'll probably keep you outta the hospital."

He pulled his hair back and held on, hoping against hope that nobody was walking by beneath their stairs, uneasily amused at the thought of the ass kicking they'd face if someone walked into the rain of Murphy's recycled whiskey, and thinking about everything Murphy had told him.

In his own convoluted Murphy way, he'd connected the dots, though not into a viable picture. Escher, maybe. Or Bosch. Nothing sane, though eminently egotistical. All of this mysticism had gone right to his head.

He had to find a way to get him to see reason, to see the acute arrogance of his logic. The presumptuousness. Coming from him, it'd only cause a fight.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by muttered cursing, alternating with what sounded like pleadings with god, and bit back a laugh.

"Take it easy, brother, you're ok."

"Everything's spinning."

"I know it is. It'll stop."

He eyed him, watching him struggle to quiet his stomach, and rubbed his neck, trying...unsuccessfully...to keep the chiding tone from his voice. "Quit fighting it, Murphy, just let it come up."

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, fuck off. I never should have let you guzzle that shit. You'll be tasting Jameson’s for a week, won’t you?"

That did it, as he'd known it would, and he felt a little evil. God knew he didn't want his brother miserable, but he didn't want a trip to the ER, either.

He kissed the top of his head, again, murmuring an apology, absurdly touched when he felt Murphy’s hand come up and pat his face, felt the little Murphy nudge in his mind that told him it was ok.

He waited with him, holding his head with one hand, smoking with the other, thinking.

By the time dawn broke in the sky, he'd decided what he had to do, though the struggle to get Murphy, now more than three quarters passed out and utterly uncooperative, back through the window almost had him rethinking doing anything at all.

"Goddamn it Murphy! Could you help me a little?"

Murphy’s response, a half coherent murmur suspiciously close to "lords fuckin name" set Connor’s patience running.

"Lords fuckin name my right nut, y'inconvenient bastard. I'd do well t'just let y'go on thinkin you're dying, now get your ass through this fuckin window!"

"That wasn't very nice..."

"Nope..."

It was another hour before he got him inside, cleaned up and into bed, two before he dared to leave him, four before he finally returned, more exhausted than he could ever remember being, falling into bed beside him, immediately comforted by his steady, even breathing.

He slid close, wrapped his arms around him, kissed his neck, started to drift, tension draining away in time with his brother’s breaths.


	74. Chapter 74

Hindsight being what it was, Connor should have known...he'd think this into infinity with the continual chills it sent rilling up his back for the entirety of his existence....and Connor would, by anyone’s standards, live an extraordinarily long life...decades longer than his brother would, though even his wasn't the brief candle flicker he'd predicted....that disabusing Murphy of his notion that the universe had conspired to bring everyone into play....and removed them as needed...to ensure his fate....the fate of Murphy MacManus an unlikely universal concern in Connor’s opinion, though he was admittedly irreplaceable to HIM...was entirely useless.

Useless not because he was stubborn, but because he was so utterly, unnervingly, completely right.

As events played out, Connor would admit that he could by no means discount the evidence...and evidence was indeed what it was...hard and inarguable evidence... of something else at work .

At the time, though, the sheer arrogance of believing such a thing infuriated him, and the stacks of data he pulled together, while Murphy slept off his monumental, apocalyptic drunk, statistically proved him right.

What were the odds that the nurse who so sweetly broke the news that 11 year old Bodhi couldn't survive would be Ira, the sister of the woman Murphy would eventually father a child with?

Statistically damned good, when neighborhood dynamics were factored in.

Or that these people, allowed existence by the brothers, would come together in an attempt to protect their benefactors?

Almost unavoidable.

It was, scientifically, almost bound to happen.

And Murphy dying because he'd told his son who he was? The mythical passing of some imaginary torch? Granted, his medical issues were real, and ordinary people with similar issues only clocked in a five year average mean survival rate...but Murphy wasn't ordinary....and what difference did revealing his paternity make?

Pure delusion.

Synchronicity...freaky enough to provoke superstitious awe, common enough to inspire songs, utterly meaningless from any scientific reality based system.

Scientific reality, he would learn...and soon...could just go fuck itself.

Everything he thought of as normal would be turned upside down, inside out, and flung into a stream of unreality that would haunt him forever, long after he'd accepted and learned to live with it, and for his remaining time on earth he would tell people...everyone, always....that it didn't take a great revelation to change the course of a life.

Nobody had to see God.

In his case...his brother had a nightmare. Just a dream.

Just a dream that would shake everything Connor had ever thought he'd known about reality and then fling it on its ass.


	75. Chapter 75

He was gone...horribly, hideously, terrifyingly gone. Matthew, tiny and fragile and HIS. Gone.

He had to make a sign. More than important, it was vital. Life or death.

The time he'd made this pot of coffee had to be on it...as bright an unmissable as possible...and the current time as well. Without both all was lost. He'd be gone forever, if he wasn't already.

He pulled huge letters from yellow strings of ink..."Matthew...stay here!" "Cody...stay here!"

Imperative that they both stay together, and that he knew nobody named Cody never occurred to him.

In that typical, schizoid, Escheresque language of dreams it all made perfect sense.

And there...the sign was finished, the coffee pot placed, the ink as perfectly brilliant bright as it had to be. He could go now, into that other time place dimension reality where they'd hidden his son. He could go get him, bring him back...if he could remember how.

It was complicated, he knew. Traversing the wall between realities was never easy, though he sensed a past ease with it lingering just beyond the veil of memory.  
Best not to think about it too much. Over thinking never got anybody anyplace. Connor was living proof.  
He'd just do it...just go there and never mind how. How didn't matter. How held you back.

He glanced once more at the sign...faintly concerned that the times might be off. Timing....

Never mind.

He shook off worry and stepped out onto the street, the warehouse ahead of him paper bright with children’s cutouts.

He could hear them, voices raised in chatter, laughs, cries...the back screen door was open.

He ran for it, dismay flooding him as it closed in his face, the timing, after all his care, still wrong.

He could hear them moving...a chittering dawn chorus of children’s voices...headed to the far end of the building, where the artwork cutouts clogged the windows like armor. He'd never get through if they reached the end, but dammit he could HEAR him...he could hear his son, his voice unmistakable. He was right there.

"Matthew!"

Not loud enough, his call produced no response.

"MATTHEW!"

He felt his throat crack with the effort, heard the din of children go to silence, and then...redolent with annoyance and impatience....his child’s voice.

"What."

What? Really? Was that honestly irritation?

"Matty, come OUT!"

A pause, then, and the screen door slammed open, a woman on the step.

"Murphy, what's wrong?"

Desperation took him over in a flood of pleas, threats, promises, all amounting to the same thing.

"Give me my son!"

And then, miraculously, he was there, tiny and beautiful, invoking a rush of emotion that brought him to his knees, erasing cogency as he pulled his child into his arms, suddenly crying ALMOST too hard to speak, nothing but a run of terrified confessions.

"I thought I'd never see you again, I thought I'd never find you...." clinging painfully tight, unwilling...unable...to let go, small hand patting his cheek, murmuring words of comfort to HIM, and shouldn't this have been the other way around?

"Murphy, it's ok, I'm RIGHT HERE!"

Those little arms, locking around his neck, cheek pressed to his, worried pleas to him not to cry, don't be scared, it's all ok...

And then behind him…the skitter of gravel, sudden sense of crazed fear and suspicion...

He whirled around, Matthew still clutched in a panicked embrace and gasping a little in surprised pain...and wasn't this becoming just a little too real?...eyes lighting on his son, simultaneously clutched in his arms and STANDING BEHIND HIM, eyes narrowed in desperate, deep mistrust, muscles tensed and poised to run, stance of a cornered, feral animal.

"Matty..."

Gone, that one word too much, his son was gone...scared, preyed upon, abandoned and wild...and in his arms, patting his cheek, stroking his hair, whispering his name...

"Murphy...that wasn't me, I'm right here."

Layered now, two Matthew voices....

"It's ok, I'm right here."

"Who ARE you! Go! Leave me be!

"Don't cry, it's ok, it's ok..."

"You're not real! You're just a story! I want to wake up!"

And then a flood...voices innumerable, shouting at him all at once and Christ, his head was SPLITTING.

"There's something wrong with Bodhi, Murphy, he's bleeding."

"That wasn't Matty. It wasn't him!"

"Maybe THIS isn't him."

"Don't cry, DO something!"

"He's gone, you know, you'll never find him."

"Bodhi's bleeding, Murphy, and this time you can't save him."

"It always comes back to blood, Murphy..."

Matthew, wriggling in his arms, pleading to be let go.

"You're HURTING me, Murphy..."

Dissolving, dissolving in his arms, dissolution complete, nothing left, no trace...

"You got the time wrong, stupid. You made that coffee HOURS ago, what were you THINKING! You fucked up the sign and now they're both gone and you'll NEVER find them!"  
"You've KILLED Bodhi, Murphy. Look at him. LOOK AT HIM!"

And he looked, saw, a deaths head specter of blood streaming over blue grey tissue paper skin, bubbling, frothing and foaming from lungs too fragile and weak to contain it.

"You knew, Murphy, you knew. As soon as you saw him, you knew. Why do you think you weren't happier to find him alive? You knew and you did nothing and now he's lost. They're all lost, it's all because of YOU! They're dead because of YOU! You'll be dead soon and they'll HAVE you, Murphy. They'll have you and they'll never forgive you. They'll rip you apart."

He tasted horror, then, dark and sweet, understood the black and bloody depth of his failure, felt the scream building in his throat, bulging there, pain defying description, bursting forth carrying bleeding shreds of him with it...not just screaming but SHRIEKING, ripping apart...shaking him, SHAKING him, his head breaking as his neck snapped, shaking him...shaking him...

Shaking him. Real hands, someone’s voice nearly inaudible over his...

"Murphy!"

He pushed it off, pushed it away, struck out at it, a very real cry of pain dimly penetrating the wall of dreaming.

"Jesus FUCKING....MURPHY!"

He threw himself back, fingers digging into something soft as he did, a new scream rivaling his own, and then he was falling...falling....

"MURPHY! WAKE UP!"

Impact knocked the breath from him, the dream riding out on that final outgoing wheeze and no incoming breath came to take its place...hands grasping his hair even as he fought for air, picking him right up, hair tearing from his scalp, something hot, something wet, streaming down his face...

"Murphy! Brother! Jesus, for the love of GOD wake up!"

Arms, now, holding him up, holding tight, holding on...grabbing inside his head and out...

"Breathe, Murphy, breathe! Jesus...please wake up!"

Gone. The warehouse, the street, the children.

His eyes, blinking into bright sun...daylight, real and implacable...Connor, one hand gripping his shoulder, painfully hard, the other tangled in his hair, just as hard.

"Murphy, wake UP!"

Flooding terror as he focused, finally, saw his brother...saw the blood dripping from his eyes, pulled back with a cry that choked him, gagged him...solid reality rushing in as he vomited on the rug, his brothers arms around him as real and solid as the daylight.

"Ok, brother, ok...let it go, I've got you."

Words to match the soothing stroke in his mind....here. Real. Solid. Connor.

"Come on back, Murph. Come on."

And now he could breathe again, could reach up, hold on, reaction setting in, turning in space...not space, his brothers arms...burying his face in his shirt, scents of soap and cigarettes, heartbeat reassuringly steady in his ear, synching with his, taking it along.

"You awake?"

"I think so. Don't let go."

"No. Christ no."

He breathed it out, struggled to shake it off, lunatic birdsong rushing in through the open window on a breeze..."lookatme lookatme lookatme..."

"What's that bird saying? Look at me?"

The ghost of a laugh...and Connor, comfortingly himself, tracing circles on his neck.

"He's an attention whore, that bird. Are you ok?"

"I think so."

"Christ Jesus, brother, you scared the shit outta me. What WAS that?"

"I d'know. I need to sit down, I can't stop fucking SHAKING..."

"Nor I, Murphy. God..."

He let go...cautious and careful...watched as Murphy sat...trying to be sure, as if he could, that his brother was clear of the dream, reassured a little when he saw him absently searching his pockets for his smokes. Even so, he thought it might be a while before he could actually breathe again.

"Here, brother."

He passed him a cigarette, sat down beside him, hands gravitating...gently now...to his brothers bleeding scalp.

"Augh, sure I'm sorry about rippin your hair out. It was all I could get hold of. You fell right over the bed...Christ, I feel sick..."

Murphy, feeling his pulse beginning to return to something like normal even as residual shakes blew through him, pulled hard on the cigarette... breathing out lingering panic on the smoke stream...and reached for Connor’s hand.

"You ARE scared...you're as Irish as it gets. Why are you bleeding? Did I do that?"

"Aye, not on purpose though. Y'just scratched my eye a bit. Fuckin right I'm scared...Murph what WAS it? I've never...what would make you scream like that?! Didn't even sound human, brother..."

"Nightmare, but...not like any I ever had. Something...I can't think past this fucking headache...how loud did I yell? My throat feels like I ate razors."

"I heard you downstairs. Murph, you're shaking..."

"I know. Just...don't leave."

"I won't. C'mon..."

He slid back against the headboard, pulling Murphy with him, his relief palpable when Murphy, no argument at all, settled back against him, clicked in, connected. He could feel him, whole and sane, Murphy entire...felt some of their terror draining away.

"Can you tell me?"

"I will...I need to let it back off a little, first. Connor, who's Cody?"

"Cody...no clue, brother. Why..."

"There's something wrong with Bodhi."

Connor’s sigh was bitter.

"I think so. He doesn't look right. Hasn't for a bit..."

"He was bleeding. Not like before, not...his eyes, his nose, his fucking teeth. He was blue...and it was too late to help him...IS too late to help him."

"Murphy..."

"Is Matthew a twin, Connor?"

"A...no! Of course he's...IS he, Murphy?!"

"There were two of him. One in my arms, one standing behind me. The one behind me ran, and Matt kept telling me it wasn't him. That he was right here. I fucked everything up, Conn. I got the time wrong."

He laughed, suddenly, humorlessly.

"Matt was gone and I had to find him, but first I had to make a sign for him. For him and Cody. It was to tell them to stay there, but...it was super important that that I put the right time on it. But you know what the time was?"

"What, Murph."

"The time I made the coffee. It was absolutely life or death that I put exactly what time I made the coffee...and I fucked it up, I put the wrong time on..."

"Murphy....I made coffee so you'd have it when you woke up. You smelled it and put it in your dream"

"Probably. It stood for something, though. Something....something I did wrong. Or didn't do. Connor..."

"Forget about the coffee. You threw yourself a red herring. You know what it was, Murph. Everything you've noticed on the edges. The stuff your subconscious saw. That's what dreams are."

"It wasn't just a dream."

"Tell me."

"I pretty much have. Matty was gone. Someone took him...to some other reality. I knew how to get there, but first I had to leave them a sign, so they'd wait for me if they found their way back. Matthew and Cody."

"But we don't know who that is."

"Right. I think I did in the dream."

"This is the coffee sign."

"Right. I went to get Matt. He was in a big warehouse full of kids. They didn't fight me, they let him go...but Connor...when I saw him...I loved him so much...I was just useless and he kept telling me it was ok, he was right there...and then there were two of him. The one I was holding, and this wild kind of feral one behind me. That one ran. Matt kept saying "that wasn’t me, Murphy..." and then there were just a million voices screaming at me that I fucked it all up. Cody...no...BODHI...was bleeding and I hadn't noticed in time. All the dead people were dead because of me. Because I did it wrong, because I wasn't paying attention. Matty kept saying to me "don't cry...DO something!" but there was nothing I could think of to do. He kept saying I was hurting him...and then he dissolved. He was just gone, like he'd never even been. There were voices, screaming at me...that they were both doomed because of me...because I fucked up the sign...and Bodhi was looking at me and he...he was blue and bleeding and dying and they were screaming at me that I'd killed him....all of them...but then this one voice...it told me they all knew I'd killed them, and I'd be dead soon, too, and they'd have me and rip me apart. And...then you woke me up. Thanks for that....I'm not sure how much more of that I could've taken. I need to check on Matty..."

"Matty's fine, he's just as worried about you. I told you, I was downstairs. Believe it, we all heard you. Bodhi's probably had some work to keep him down there, he hit the door faster than I did."

"Yeah, he's quick. Christ alive, Connor, I feel like a truck dragged me down the freeway."

"Well, now the panic's goin I imagine the hangover's kickin in. You want me to have Bodhi send the kid up?"

"BRING him, Conn. Bring him. Don't....don't send him anywhere."

"Yeah, alright."

It was the work of a second to send a text, a second longer to make up his mind.

"Murphy..."

He sat up, tense all over again.

"I got some stuff together, while you were asleep. All that stuff you said about...well, all of it...it's not like you think it is, Murph. I kind of got..."

"Proof, Connor?"

Surprisingly gentle, his voice held a trace of a smile.

"You're right, it's not like I think, because I didn't think about it. You do that. I just...came to it. And I know how much you want me to be wrong..."

"You ARE wrong."

"I'm not. There's nothing you can show me that'll change that, but I'll look if you want me to. After they leave. Why you lookin all suspicious at me?"

"No offense brother, I kinda figured you to blow up."

"Why? Connor...I told you I'm gonna die, I don't half expect you to just accept it. I wouldn't, if it was you. Which it isn't and won't be. You're gonna be around damn near forever."

"Yeah, sure. Murphy..."

The rap on the door interrupted him, and he broke off, stood up, eyes distant and preoccupied.

"You can come to whatever you want, if you insist you don't think. You're forgetting to factor something in."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Me."

He moved toward the door, lighting a smoke as he went.

"There's no way in hell I'm gonna let you die."


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving a bit into the mystic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story should be in the final wrap but....I seem to have created more of it. As if it wasn't long enough already.
> 
> This is where it wants to go...so...onward.

In all honesty, his exhaustion was such that he'd have collapsed back into bed without a second thought for the breathing pile of wreckage he'd become. That his clothes were stuck to him, glued in place by an unthinkable combination of organic substances...the bed and surrounding floor space equally unspeakable...was irrelevant. He neither noticed, nor cared.

That he'd done himself real damage, something he'd thought impossible with something so innocuous as whiskey, was beginning to seem not only possible, but likely. Hangovers he'd had, aplenty, and god knew there was plenty of that right here, but this heavy lassitude...and the sense that his lungs were too done in to breathe, his heart too spent to do much more than shiver in his chest...these things were alien to him.

If it hadn’t been for Matthew, who had stayed in his presence only long enough for the two of them to be mutually reassured that each of them was still alive...though neither particularly well...he knew he'd be in that fouled bed with no thought at all.

Instead he was in the shower, though standing had proven too daunting a feat.

He simply sat, marveling a little at the complexity that had entered his life in the shape of one tiny boy, letting the hot water rain down over him, sluicing off god knew what with no effort at all on his part.

Though he hadn't asked, he knew Connor was dealing with the rest of it, and when he finally found the inner fortitude to drag himself out of here he'd find little to no evidence of the nightmare explosion that had happened to his body while he slept off the whiskey poison.

Funny, until his son hit the room, Connor hadn't cared much about the mess, either. Aware of it only dimly, his focus his brother, it had taken their third...and there was no getting around it, they had completely ceased being two...to bring them out of their obsessive shell of mutual fixation and pull their attention back to the real world. Again.

He wondered, vaguely, not for the first time, if it would ever go away, that obsessive, dangerous tunnel vision.

Maybe it didn't need to, now that they had Matthew. And Christ, that kid was funny strange. There was too much...and what was it, anyway?

Smiling a little, knuckling water from his eyes and reaching to turn it hotter, Murphy thought maybe it was dignity...or outright class.

"That and he's a fucking million lifetimes older than you are, MacManus..."

The sound of his own voice startled him, made him laugh, made him choke a little on whatever accumulated debris had backed up in his throat and he cleared it with a wince and spat toward the drain deliberately avoiding even a glance at whatever it might have been.

Christ he was a mess.

And the kid had pulled him right into awareness of it.

He hadn't been in the room...well...near the room...he'd refused to go in, had in fact backed up....a complete minute before his clarity of view jolted Murphy’s self-sense back on line and he'd found himself suddenly feeling the abominable itch of his sticky, filth flaking, sweat slimed skin, the hollow, aching, nauseated emptiness inside where, some way or another, his body had voided everything in him.

He had been going to go back to sleep like that.

Had been. His kid wasn't coming anywhere near him, and while the overwhelming emotion coming off of him was a heartbreaking love soaked worry, there was an abundance of heavy disgust as well.

He'd had a moment of irritation...after that dream he'd wanted nothing more but his son in his arms...but it hadn't lasted. It couldn't. His eyes had locked with his son’s, and his soul cringed a little as he saw himself from Matthew’s perspective.

Christ...he didn't want to touch himself.

And so there had been his child...he laughed again at the image...hovering like a grossed out little ghost in the doorway, calling in "You're ok? Why were you yelling?"

And himself, calling back "I guess. It was just a dream. Are you ok?"

"I guess. I'm not going in there, so if you want to talk about it you're gonna have to take a shower and come see me."

There had been no possible argument.

And now here he was and it wasn't so bad, this. It wasn’t so bad at all. The hot water felt good. Soothing. Too soothing. If he didn't watch himself he'd fall asleep and wouldn’t that be a joy when the water ran cold.

He thought, briefly, about getting out and calling it good, somewhat less briefly, though no more successfully...this languid, liquidly peaceful state of being he was sliding into wouldn't allow the effort... about masturbating, finally shaking off the languor when he caught himself drifting off.

Stretching a little to reach a washcloth...hot water was well and good, but some of this crud was gonna take work...awareness of the unusual quiet in his head began to work its way in. It drifted in on scents of soap and shampoo, strangely nostalgic, bringing back sudden visions of home. Childhood.

God, how impossibly old the thought of his childhood made him feel. Had there really been a time ...and such a long, achingly sweet time...when things had been easy? When nothing was strange? When people were who they seemed, and nobody died? When innocence was the reality, rather than a naive illusion?

There had. And it wasn't gone...this wash of warmth and memory proved it...but what good could come of it now?

"Everyone has to grow up sometime."

His voice surprised him less this time, his throat stayed clear, his thoughts easy.

So, he'd grown up.

Grown up, and now he had a child...a child who had never, in his limited experience in this life, known anything remotely approaching innocence.

Sighing, he rested his still aching head on his arms, wondering, as he drifted off, if there was anything he'd ever be able to do to change that.

Though he'd spend the rest of his life...and it was longer than he believed, or had any reason to hope, it would be...wondering how the soon to occur miracle of communication had happened...though the very powers that be would share this mystified wonder...it was as simple as it was easy.

A certain seven year old, at this moment far from the mystic, entire attention caught up in the wonder of the paper frogs Bodhi was teaching him to make...and Murphy had been wrong, well and truly, in his thought that this life held no innocence...could have told them just exactly how it had occurred, and he could have done it without straining a brain cell.

Had they thought to ask, he'd have told them that Murphy, thinking of him as he fell asleep, of course had dreamed of him.

That other guy, thinking of all of them, had dreamed them.

It only made sense that they would dream each other.

Nobody ever asked, but that lack in no way affected the coming wonder.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, halfway across the country...

Gavin squinted into the light, frown line spilling from between his eyes, right down his face.

His vision had gone amber, sparkling glints of gold littering his view of the painting he was working on...already a bitch, now a golden amber bitch. 

Sighing in frustration, he shoved at an errant spill of caramel hair, successfully clearing his vision but leaving a streak of vermillion along his cheek in its wake. Combined with the already existent smears and stripes...in hues of lemon, rust, a deep, true, and very expensive lapis, an observer would have been hard pressed to identify just which was the work in progress...his face or the canvas.

Not that a fair number of people didn't consider it his face, as a given.

He was pretty, of that there was no doubt, and it never failed to irritate him, both in defense of his artistic integrity...did they buy his work because it was good or because of his face... engendering a tooth gritted snarl whenever a review crossed his desk that first focused on his looks.... and in defense of his insulted gender.

Unquestionably very male, the delicacy of his features had gotten on his nerves for as long as he could remember...and combined with his artistic sensibilities well...trying to convince the world he was neither delicate, nor gay, was almost a full time job.

Cody, snickering now from across the room, was likely the only thing that saved what masculinity he'd managed to hold onto. The kid was a chick magnet...he wasn’t his, but the world didn't need to know that.

"You over there laughing at me. Don't make me get up."

His voice was mild, clearly not a bit at odds with his companion.

"You got more paint on your face than you do on the picture."

"Yeah?" He shoved at his hair again, adding more color to his face, and more hilarity from the peanut gallery.

"Least I'm doing something. Whoring out my art to feed your ass. But go on, laugh. Oh for fuck sake..."

This as he unthinkingly rubbed an eye, depositing a blob of paint solidly in his eyeball and reducing Cody to a helplessly laughing pile.

"Good. Good. I'll probably go blind. I don't see you over here creating a damn thing, you're just sittin over there on your butt, eating all the food, leaving all your worldly possessions behind you in a trail for me to clean up...dirtyin up all the laundry…go on ahead. Add insult to injury. Laugh it up. I suppose you'd never get paint on you."

"Nope, cuz you don't ever let me touch it."

"You think I'm crazy? You're seven. I should just hand you some oils, you can finger-paint all over the house."

The banter was old...comfortable...idle...but this time, it seemed, a nerve had been touched.

"Oh please. As if I'd FINGER paint."

The derision caught his attention, and he stopped trying to knuckle blue out of his eye and turned to look, surprised by the air of insult in the boys demeanor.

Well, it probably WAS insulting, old joke or not. The kid had come into the world with an adults skeptical affect, and his attitude had been a consistent 35 ever since.

Hell, once the total care days had ended, Gavin had found Cody to be much more a roommate than a child.

"No."

He sighed, wondering not for the first time just when the kid would outpace him and take over.

"I don't guess you would. Though it wouldn't hurt you to act your age every once in a while. What would you paint, Cody?"

"Nothin, because you don't let me."

"Do you WANT to?"

He watched the boy’s face as he thought about it. Never a fast answer from this one. He pondered things. It drove his teacher nuts.

"No, I don't think I'd want to PAINT, Gavin. It's too...mixed. Nothing I see up here..."

He tapped his forehead and grinned.

"...looks like that. Or your face."

"Shut up. Not PAINT huh? Something, though?"

"Maybe. I don't know if I can draw. I never tried."

"You color all the time."

"The pictures are already there. Anybody can color 'em in. You still got pencils? Colored ones?"

"Sure."

"I could try 'em?"

"Sure. You can try anything you want, y'know."

"Except the paint."

"Even the paint if you suck up hard enough. You want those pencils now?"

"No. In the morning. After I dream the place again. I'll remember it better."

"C, you want to draw a place you dreamed?? That's really hard to do, y'know."

"How come?"

"I dunno, it just is."

He sat back, looking for the explanation he knew Cody would want. "It's kind of like...something goes missing between the dream, and the waking world. It's clear in memory, but it doesn't translate. I don't know why, just whenever I've tried it, the picture I get is never really what I remember it being. What's the place?"

"Dunno. It looks like school, but...long. More windows. Lots more kids. And that guy..."

"What guy?"

"He looks like...no, that's the KID, not the guy. There’s a kid AND a guy. The KID looks just like me only he's real little. Little and skinny. If he was real, he'd get beat up."

Gavin, suddenly in the grip of a chill that defied description, set his brushes down and turned his full attention to the boy before him.

"Just like you?"

"Mmmhmm, but little."

"Cody. When you say little, do you mean younger? Like...he's you when you were little?"

Who was he kidding. Cody had never been little. He'd been born big, and he was bigger now than every kid in his class, bigger even than some second graders.

"No, he's the same as me, just little and skinny and sort of...old."

"Old, huh?"

"No. But..."

"You don't know how else to describe it."

"Right. And there's a guy there. He's old. I think he's the kid’s dad. Something happened to him, he's crying. He thinks somebody took HIS me."

"His YOU?! Cody..."

"Well, the other kid who looks like me. His kid. They didn’t take him at all, he's right there every time but he never does remember, him. He always thinks he's never gonna see him again. I never saw anybody’s dad cry, for true."

"It happens. Cody...how do you know what he thinks?"

"It's my dream! I know everything! I think...when he sees me...he thinks I'm the other kid."

Ice sank into Gavin’s spine, cold fingers reached into his gut, twisted.

"Jesus. Kiddo, you know this guy?"

"No, just from my dream. What's 'matter, G? You know who it is?"

Fuck but he was quick on the uptake.

"How could I? It's your dream."

"Because you look worried."

"I'm not."

It was true. He wasn't the least bit worried. Terrified came a whole lot closer. Suddenly, his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

“Just...what you said reminded me of something I haven't thought of in a really long time. I just kinda need to think about it."

"G, it's MY dream, but YOU gotta think about it?"

"Go figure, huh? C'mon, let's get those pencils."

"I told you I don't need them now. Gavin..."

"What."

He watched the boy, watching him, saw the struggle on his face, saw the moment when, in a purity of insight far in advance of his years, he chose to let it go, to let Gavin think he'd distracted him.

"Paper, too."

"No, Cody, I thought you could just rip some off the wall."

Cody’s smile, not quite genuine but a clear signal that he would let the matter drop for now, gave Gavin a little more space in his chest, and by the time he'd pulled everything out for Cody the sudden anxiety had begun to fade.

Sooner or later, after all, it was bound to happen.

Sighing, aware that he'd been ruined for any further work today, he set Cody up and disappeared into the bathroom...as much for the privacy as the paint removal... briefly considering the idea that, if he didn’t learn to keep his hair out of his face he could be permanently multicolored before too much longer...staring into the mirror and for the first time in years seeing that duplicate reflection he'd been so used to all of his life...something that had, mercifully, blessedly passed as time and distance took hold...reactivated, it seemed, by one little boys dream.

Were they really, finally, going to open up this box of aches?

He stepped out onto the porch, fell into a chair that had seen significantly better days, rested his bare feet on the rail and lit the first of what would become this nights many many cigarettes.

That Cody had dreamed of a smaller, more frail version of himself was more than coincidence.

It had to be.

And if Cody’s twin had survived, had survived and was, even now, reaching out…or for that matter, if Cody was...or both of them, simply seeking each other with that instinct born of shared DNA...what was he supposed to do about it? Facilitate some reunion? Bring Cody...Cody, who had so far escaped the taint associated with the insanity he was descended from, who was as happy and bright and normal as he could be...into that chaos?

Bring the other kid out of it?

All while avoiding his own twin...and there was that, wasn't there. Twins. Fucking twins. Inseparable from each other...whether they liked each other or not...get enough of them together and they started to....INFECT. 

Given Cody’s parentage, there was at least one set of twins on the books, two if Cody’s donor had survived, three if his own other half was involved. An infestation of twins.

"Get enough of us together and we're a fucking hive mind...Jesus Christ."

Enough of this shit. It wasn't getting him anything but heartburn. There were far more pleasant ways to accomplish that.

Sighing again, he leaned back, hauled in on the rest of the cigarette, and gave himself a mighty mental shake.

Whatever might be going on two thousand miles away, they were here, and they were fine. Here they were safe, content with their lives and each other, and there were no nests of psychics, madmen and killers. He'd wait, play it by ear, see what transpired. There was no need, right at the moment, to panic.

There were no bizarre twinny pullings and tuggings, no shared hearts and intuitions, no blinding, obsessive connectedness. No crazy people working weird deluded agendas in that strained, dry chill of a prison.

Here there was warmth. Here there was the ever-present din of cicadas, the heavy, wet jasmine air that rested against his skin like a lovers touch. The rough, softly splintered wood beneath his feet...this old old house, his for a song, his and Cody’s.

This was their world, and the glimmerings from his past had no bearing on it.

What there also was Gene's and where there was Gene's there was hot sausage.

"C!"

He hollered back through the door, for the moment deeply pleased at this, his own, simple prosaic magic.

Five little words would have his shoes and car keys in his hands in less than a minute.

"Wanna go get hot sausage?"

 It was the beginning of the last peaceful night they'd have for a very long time.


	78. Chapter 78

The fucking cigarette wouldn't light, and wasn't that a bitch and a half on top of everything else.

Fucking rain.

Truth be told, he was getting sick of waiting...that he couldn't remember exactly what...or who...he was waiting for only increased his aggravation.

Only the sense that whatever it was was important...vitally, urgently important...had kept him here. That...and the strangest, most intensely mixed sensation of pleasure and pain seemingly generated in and radiating outward from every single cell in his body. Billions of microdot agonies and orgasms rippling along his nerves, he wanted to run...and sink in...needed it to stop, to go on forever.

Whatever it was...the fucking smoke still wouldn't light.

"Murphy. There you are."

The voice should have startled him, would have if he hadn't been waiting for it, anticipating it...longing for it and here it was, and the sudden burst of relief on hearing it brought him unexpectedly to tears.

Memory surged in him...he'd been small, lost, separated from his Ma and Connor, had roamed for hours trying to find them...had burst into the same helpless, relieved tears when they'd finally found him.

Here, now, again, as he felt arms he'd never realized he'd been missing, longing for his entire life wrap around him, as he clung tight...home. Finally.

He couldn't let go, even when the little pain pleasure pulses erupted into blazing light, into fire...his entire body alight, one continuous erogenous zone, even as he felt the exact blazing response in the body of the man he now clung to...who now clung to him...salt tears and sweet spit mingling as they pressed closer, held tighter, tried to join.

This was love that made what he felt for Connor...that so intense it scared him so what of this!...seem paltry and weak.

This was home...his soul’s asylum. Each other’s.

He had no idea who this was.

No idea...even though he'd been craving this reunion as long as he'd existed.

"I'm dreaming."

The words broke the spell, a little...or the realization, it didn't much matter...just enough to dim that blaze of ecstasy to bearable, to let him loosen his grip, step back just enough to look at the face of the man who stood, nodding in agreement, swiping at his eyes, almost laughing.

"Yes, you're dreaming. Well...sort of dreaming. You're asleep somewhere, anyway. But this isn't just a dream, Murphy. This is real. I don't know how, but this is real. It's..."

He looked away, around, up at a sky that had taken on a dirty, yellow, chrome bite.

"It's crazy, it's almost a miracle. I don't know how you're doing it, but bless you you are. There's so much I want to tell you...miracles can't happen, though. They...can't. Not with people, anyway. Existence won't stand for it. I won't be allowed to just tell you...but I can help you understand, that I can do. You don't know who I am, do you."

Murphy, whose blissed out joy was just rushing, foaming, fizzing through him, couldn't control any of it any longer and flung himself back into a full embrace, not caring a bit that he didn’t know...it seemed irrelevant on so many levels that it didn’t bear thinking about...felt all of those billions of points of ecstatic sensation blaze up, again, into light. Felt those arms around him less urgent, now, less frantic, hands moving against him, stroking in some perfect, symbiotic oneness, lips on lips, skin on skin, calming him even as he realized he was on the edge of an immense orgasm.

In his ear that other voice, whispering and intense..."Oh...Murphy" as hands pulled him in tight, pressing him ... just...exactly...right.

He came, and came hard...so hard. So hard that, just for a moment, everything shifted and he felt himself PULLED, tugged, forced from what was clearly a dream into something...other. Not awake, no, thank god, if he'd woken right then despondency would have killed him, but no longer simply dreaming.

Some boundary...breached, crossed by both of them, and he knew, suddenly…crushingly...who he was with.

"You don't have a name."

Very reluctantly, feeling a little as if he were tearing away some of himself...and really how far was that from the truth...he pulled away, clear for a bit of that disorienting and blinding joy, and let their eyes meet, let his gaze truly take in this new and unexpected companion.

It wasn't like looking in a mirror, not at all. He guessed it was what looking at your identical twin just... must...be.

Himself, subtly different. His face, minus the battle scars, the ravages of illness, the lines emotion and life had etched on him. His eyes...but clear, open, free of suspicion. Free of pain.

On an actual living man it would have been another copy of him, colored and shaped by his own experiences, his own preferences, his own heartaches and joys. But on this man...he seemed ageless. Timeless. What Murphy might have looked like if his life had been peaceful. Or if he hadn't ever lived. Not quite a blank...there was definitely a real personality here...but not a soul who had ever been physical.

"You never made it far enough to get one."

"No, I didn't. But I'm still here, Murphy. Once in existence, always in existence. Only the form can change. The substance remains the same. You have no idea how long, or how hard I've been trying to reach you. And Connor! I have a little better luck with him. He's so tuned into you...makes it easier, but he still never understands. You need to know how...and why...this happened, Murphy. It bears on other people who need you to put things right so they can live. They can't do it themselves...although your son, he's something, that one. He may be why this was even able to happen. He amplifies you so much...will you for godsake quit staring at me?"

Murphy, who hadn't been aware he was, pulled rank with a laugh.

"My dream. My rules of etiquette. If you never...."

He couldn't say it, found he nearly couldn't think it, and turned away.

"Go on Murphy. You'll have to bring yourself to say it sooner or later."

"If you never lived, how am I seeing you as you? I'm not inserting an image, I didn't even know you ever..."

"No you didn't. I guess you're seeing who I would have been."

"Well..."

He was fighting with the cigarette again. Funny how it only seemed to be raining when he needed a light.

"You look like you'd have had a goddamned easy life. How...how did this even happen? I mean...I know who you are. You're my twin. But...it can't happen twice. You might have been supposed to be, I guess that must be where this is going, but you didn't turn out to be, it can't be both ways...and Connor is my twin."

"Not...really."

"Yes...really."

Oddly, he was having no trouble at all accepting that this was his twin. He'd felt it instantly, irrevocably, and realized that on some level he'd always known. It wasn't even the impossibility of it.  
What was putting him out of sorts was where it left Connor in this whole grand design. CONNOR was his twin, was his heart and soul. That this could change that...it wasn't something he would ever let into the light.

Fuck the world, if it came to that.

 

"Don't worry, Murphy. This won't change how you feel about Connor. Unless it makes you love him even more...though why you love him so much is probably because you already know, so...sit down with me...quit fuckin around with your lighter, it's not gonna work..."

Murphy, caught between emotions and worlds, felt himself reaching some critical breaking point...soon enough he'd pull himself awake and out of it if things inside him didn't settle ...and gasped a little in profound relief as the others arms slipped around him and pulled him close.

"Just lean back and let everything go, Murphy. All you're going to do is remember, and it won't hurt."

"What am I remembering?"

"How it really is both ways. When you knew me. And when Connor came."

 

In the way of dreams, the blink from sitting wrapped in the arms of his double to standing with him on the side of the road in front of someone’s house...seemed perfectly reasonable.

What didn't was the infuriating familiarity of the young guy sitting on the porch. He looked like someone...someone he knew well. Someone he loved...but just who it was remained elusive.

"Who is he?"

"Gavin. He's...."

His voice cut off and his wince of pain was far from light. Frowning, seeming to gather in on himself, he tried again...the flinch this time accompanied by a bloody toothed grimace and a scowl of anger.

"Ok, telling you who he is is off limits. The cheap horror show games, though, are pretty asinine, if you ask me. Don't worry Murphy, the blood isn't real."

It looked real enough when he spat it out, and Murphy found himself wondering uneasily how nightmarish this dream might turn out.

"You should recognize him..."

"I do. I just can't think who it is he looks like. Obviously another twin."

"His twin is sick, Murphy. Right now he's dying. But...they can do what you and Connor can do. Apart, one of them will certainly die. Together...they both might live. Maybe not, it may be too late, but...Gavin ran, years ago. They don't have any contact. They NEED contact. They need to be together.

You have to do what his brother hasn't been able to. You need to bring him home. And not just for him. Look."

The rain, fading in and out of perception, had grown heavier...colder...Murphy felt himself starting to shiver and wondered again at this dreams eventual outcome.

Murphy saw the door open, saw a child come out.

Matthew, but...not. In much the way the man beside him wasn't quite him, this boy was identical to his son....yet subtly different.

Bigger, certainly. Where Matthew was painfully tiny, this boy was clearly significantly large for his age. Tall, rugged, but...something about it seemed off. He didn't look sickly...but he didn't look right, either.

And while his face held none of the injured wisdom of Matthews, no hint of knowledge gained unfairly soon, no sign of hurt... it held a feral, almost predatory alertness.

"Waiting..."

He had to shout, now, over the pounding of the rain...icy and drenching.

"Right."

"Matty IS a twin. I knew...I knew when I had that dream. He's Cody, isn't he."

He was shivering badly now...how had it gone so cold, so fast?

"He is. And it's BEEN cold for a long time, you just haven't noticed."

"What's wrong with him?"

No answer came, nothing but the pounding...pounding he was no longer sure was the rain. It sounded as if reality itself was coming apart at the seams...and where his double had been...his first twin...only rain.

The sense of loss that welled inside him was immediate and huge and he felt rather than heard...the pounding now too loud to hear anything at all... the sob that burst from his aching throat.

Gone. Again. Nameless, nonexistent, HIS.

It hurt too much to think about.

Frozen, bereft, he wanted nothing more than to wake up...wake up, find Connor, wrap himself up in him and try to stay sane.

Waking, though, was not yet to be.

Desperate, he clenched a fist, struck himself, repeatedly everywhere he could reach...and the blows seemed paper...feathers...could he hit himself hard enough in a dream to wake himself? It didn't seem so.

Hands caught in hair, he pulled...ripped...laughed as he held up a handful, bloody at the roots...dissolved into angry tears when the dream stayed static around him...tried to yell...it would either wake him or bring Connor...and felt the dream begin to tremble at the edges, yelled again...and broke off, shocked into silence when the hot, stinging slap of a hand met his face, stumbling backward when the same hand flashed again and connected with his head, grabbed his hair and held on.

The furious face of the man on the porch swam into view, screaming something over the rain. Unable to hear it he screamed something back, something he couldn't hear...WHAT was he saying?  
His own voice lost in the din, helpless to wake himself and end this, he let himself go limp, collapsed into the mud and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees...pulling in.

So cold...and still he wasn't awake, though the voices of the man and boy on the porch came clear...louder than the rain or in his head he didn’t know, didn't care.

"You can't take him. You can't TAKE him!"

Though he didn't answer, he heard his own voice; "What's wrong with him?!"

And the voice of the child; "I told you he was crying."

None of it made sense, none of it, and he hit the wall as abruptly as this dream sky had turned cold...felt the god-awful wrench in his chest as he pulled himself out of the dream and awake...though he couldn't be awake because the freezing rain still fell and the pounding went on and on and on.


	79. Chapter 79

Jesus Christ, brother..."

Connor, oblivious to the fact that he was a hairsbreadth away from setting his brother on fire with the cigarette in his mouth every time he moved, seemed to be trying to dry off every freezing bit of Murphy...who'd been shivering too hard to hang on to the towel... all at once.

"How could y'not wake up? I just about beat the door down..."

"I know..."

He reached up and plucked the cig from Connor’s mouth, took a hit, grimaced, and flicked it into the tub. He'd never had a smoke turn his stomach before but it seemed to be a night of firsts.

"I heard you. It just worked its way into the dream. Christ, I'm so fuckin cold!"

Connor, watching for the blue to leave his brothers lips, didn't need to be told.

"I know, you're fuckin purple, brother. Just c'mon, you're dry enough."

"Clothes, Con..."

"No. Not till your warm. I'm not kidding, your lips are blue."

Shoving Murphy toward their bed, he was shedding clothes as he went, stymied for a second as Murphy seized up at the edge of the bed, stumbled back a step or two, turned as if to flee the room.

"Con, maybe I could just get dressed, yeah?"

"Not till you’re warm. Skin on skin, Murphy, and fuck you if you think you have somethin better to do."

"Oh, believe me, I don't."

There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to be tangled up in Connor, warm...safe...but...

"Just please don't let me fall asleep. I...I don't want back in there."

"I won't. Get covered up, I'll be right back."

He felt the bright stab of fear arrow into him before he'd finished speaking. Whatever was going on, Murphy was scared to be alone.

"Murph..."

He sent back a little of the jolt Murphy'd hit him with, enough to make it clear he got it, he was hanging on, he wasn't leaving him alone, got back the faintest possible acknowledgment, nearly buried in that new, cold, clean terror.

It'd have to do.

"Murphy. The doors open all the way, you can see right into the kitchen. You can have eyes on me the whole time. Ok?"

No answer, just that grim acceptance steeped in fear.

"Not even five minutes, brother."

In reality, it was less than three, and he was back, forcing a steaming mug into his brother’s hand.

"This'll probably taste fucking awful, but it's hot, so drink it."

"Get in with me, first, Connor, just...get in and hold on, ok? Man...you got NO idea."

He knew Connor couldn't see it...could feel it locked in some part of his mind he couldn't share...and hadn't known was there.

"Not yet I don't"

Connor set the cup aside, let his brother settle into him, hissing a little as icy Murphy wound himself into his warmth, and pushed it back into his hands.

"Drink that, and then you're gonna tell me. And yes, I know you're not hidin it from me on purpose so please quit with the stress about it. Just get warm, and tell me whatever you need to. And don't think for a second that I'm going anywhere."

"I know you're not. This doesn't taste awful, Connor. I don't know what the fuck it is, but it doesn't suck. Course I'm so fuckin cold it could be cat piss and as long as it was hot I'd probably like it..."

"Almost is cat piss. Lemonade I threw in the microwave. Fastest thing I could think of."

"No liquor in it, huh?"

"Fuck off. If you ever swill like that again I'll kill you myself. Y'know...look at me...I d'know, you still look a little blue...you feel any better?"

"I feel like an ice cube. What'd you start to say?"

"You made yourself scary sick, Murph. Not that it's the first time you drank your way to a two day hangover, but this...I mean...for a couple hours there...I didn't know...shit, I've never before seen anything like that and I hope to god I never do again. I'm not altogether sure why you're not in the fuckin hospital."

"Just because I'm me, Connor. Same as if it'd been you. But I know what you're thinking. Probably half the reason I can't get warmed up."

"And you were asleep in a cold fucking shower for an hour..."

"That. Alright. You're right. Even though I hate being on a fucking tether...it's early, too. You think that's ok?"

"Given the circumstances I think I probably should have plugged you in two days ago. You ok while I go get shit?"

"Yeah."

Unspoken between them, the fact that they'd both learned how to maintain and work the port that would be forever in residence in Murphy’s arm, that the bags of fluids that largely kept him alive were also always stocked up and on hand. That, during the off schedule...the weeks he did his best, for the sake of his liver and kidneys...true to his promise to do everything he could to extend his life...to keep himself going on his own...he flirted with constant dehydration, always lost weight, lost strength...they went on with their days, never talking about it, just doing what was necessary.

Even now, minimally acknowledged even as Connor dumped an armload of tubing and bags on the bed, though Murphy couldn't help a flash of irritation. He'd have been a lot less sick if either of them had thought to do this before.

He watched Connor sort through it and saw the question in his glance.

"You do it. I'm still shaking too bad, I'd end up poking an eye out. Connor, you know you shoulda beat me silly when I opened that fuckin bottle."

"I know."

"And I shoulda hooked myself up the first time I puked off the fuckin fire escape."

"I know. Or either of us any time at all over the last couple days but...clearly we'll both always be stupid when it comes to not killing you."

"Ever wonder why that is?"

"Every day. Murphy..."

"Don't. It's just us. We haven't killed me yet. If we do...then you can be sorry."

"Fucker. You still feelin sick?"

"Yeah, not so bad as before but...yeah. And no, I don't want anything for it. It'll knock me out and the last thing in the world I want is to be held under."

"Ok. This all still feel ok?"

"It's fine. Connor...you know, your whole life all you've done is keep me alive. It's a good thing you like me."

"C'mon, Murphy, that's..."

"The truth. Get that set and get back in with me. I guess I have to tell you what I found out."

"In your dream, Murph?"

"Don't take that tone with me, yes in my dream. It wasn't just a dream. If it had been, I'd have woken up when the water went cold, or when you were banging on the door..."

"Maybe not, Murph. You're not in great shape, or hadn't you noticed. Move, I have to get on that side now that this is in the way. Fucking...WHY are you still shivering!"

"Because I'm still cold. Never mind it, it’s no big deal. That’ll help, and you...if you sit still with me for more than five minutes you'll help. Don't worry so hard, I'm just cold. I'm not gonna get sick from it."

"You might."

"I won't. I have too fuckin much to do, now will you please...PLEASE...get close to me?"

"Is there anything else you can think of I might have to get back up for?"

"Not for me."

"Not for me either."

He slid in next to his brother, enduring once again the icy tangle of arms and legs, laughing a little as Murphy wound around him in his inimitable Murphy way. Always the same, as comforting for one as the other.

What would he do when there was no Murphy?

He felt amusement give way abruptly to despair, no time even to wonder as completely unexpected tears filled his eyes, first of sadness, then of infinite, grateful relief as the half expected chiding from Murphy failed to come, his twin knowing, as he always did, exactly what Connor needed...as Murphy’s lips touched the corner of his eye, kissing his tears. As his hand touched his cheek, gentle as a whisper, his breath warm in his ear.

"It's ok, Conn. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere yet."

"I know you're not. I'm just so fuckin tired, Murph."

"I know."

He pulled back, ignoring Connor’s scowling protest, looked him over.

"Yeah, you look like hell, brother. When's the last time you slept?"

"Two days ago. Been up with you you selfish bastard."

"Well go to sleep! Look at me, Connor...no danger. I'm fine."

"You wanted me to keep you awake, remember?"

"Yeeaah...that's working its way out. I'm fine."

"I want to hear your dream, though. It fuckin bugs me, brother, that it's locked in like it is."

"Bugs me too. But I'm not gonna forget it, I don't have to tell it now."

"Yes you do."

"You'll just stay awake until I do, huh?"

"That's right."

He shivered a little as Murphy’s fingers stroked idle paths across his chest, feather soft, moved lower.

"And you can just quit it, and get your hands where I can see 'em, you're not gonna distract me like that. Not this time."

"No?"

"No. I know what you're doing. You think you're gonna get me off..."

He broke off again, those trailing fingers... still cool but warming fast... finding their way down his belly, close...teasing.

"Think nothing, I will..."

"Get. Your hands. Where I can see them. You wanna get me off and then put me to sleep, but whatever happened to you is too big, Murphy. I know...no matter what I said...that it was more than a dream. It took you so far under..."

Closer still, brushing just over, just under, just beside, so close, making him hard.

"Yeah, but it's over, and I'm here. It can wait. Maybe it SHOULD wait, till we both feel right."

Back up to his chest, circling his nipples, not touching them...almost...almost...

Christ, he was hard as a goddamn rock.

"C'mon, Murphy, stop it."

"You really want me to?"

Lips brushing his now, of course, kisses came next, slow and lingering sweet, molasses spit in his mouth.

"Why do you always taste like candy?"

Murphy’s laugh sparkled through him...so good to hear, so good to feel. "Connor, you're so weird...you want me to stop?"

"God no."

"Thank god."

At first it was just Murphy being Murphy...all those teasing, lingering kisses, touches, bites that took him to the edge and dangled him there, trapped until his brother decided to let him go.  
He felt it, hard, when it changed. When, suddenly, it was Murphy insistently connecting, minds suddenly, forcefully locked, the taste in Connor’s mind aggressive, almost angry. Murphy overcome with something Connor couldn't place, didn't understand, couldn't interpret.

"Murphy..."

"Sshh."

He was on him, now, not teasing, not playing. This was serious, this was real, Murphy pushing every possible connection as deep as it would go...every touch, every kiss, every bite in sync with his soul, fingers...hot now...pushing him open, pushing in, still careful, giving him time to adjust, but not the least bit tentative. He wasn't playing.

It wasn't until he was in, thrusting in that slow, intense Murphy way that would make him come until it hurt, and then again...he knew, he'd done it before, had set up a craving for it ever since that ate at Connor’s soul... eyes locked to his, dipping down to kiss him, hard...to bite at his lips...that he heard the whispered, almost inaudible little muttering his brother had been breathing out...it wasn't until he came...as hard and as long as he'd known he would, that he understood what his brother had been saying.

Linked into his mind, he never knew if he heard it or felt it, but he got it.

"YOU'RE my twin."


	80. Chapter 80

Connor, drifted toward sleep with Murphy curled around him, over him...through him if Murphy had had his way..., riding the little waves of discontent from his twin with the ease of years.

In the part of his mind, smaller by the moment, still in the waking world he understood the content of Murphy’s frustration...his brother felt distanced, disconnected from him... though not the reason for it...that was unfathomable to him, but then...Murphy’s mind was often like that...open for viewing but through a dark, muddy, swirl of constantly shifting emotion. 

He'd learned early…or perhaps always known...that the only way to stay in tune was to wait for the clear moments and catch them as they spun to the surface.

Now though, even that murky spin was hidden from him, behind a wall his brother hadn't put there and couldn't defeat...though in all honesty he hadn't really tried. Not yet.

All he'd done was fuck him like he'd really wanted to eat him...consume him whole...fiercely possessive and claiming every inch of him...then swarm onto him, clinging...merging...attaching himself as thoroughly as he could, kissing him endlessly, their breath mingled...synced.

It seemed he was destined to fall asleep kissing Murphy...too sleepy to stop him, limbs too heavy to push him away.

It would have been fine...but his lips were getting sore...and god, that small pain couldn't really shadow how GOOD it felt to feel Murphy’s body enfolded with his, couldn't compete with his tingling, burning nipples wired directly to his cock, and was he really, REALLY about to come again?  
He was...he was right there...and the element of pain...spreading now from his lips to encompass his whole body...only seemed to make it better, turning him inside out with desire...unquenchable and insistent, intrusive...even as he came...Murphy’s teeth sinking deep into his lip as he did...needing to come again immediately as pain, intense now, sank into every cell, every atom...Murphy’s skin seemed to have grown a million barbs, all sinking into him at once...cheeks pressed together now joined flesh inside flesh...skin, heart, brain, limbs, cock, bone...stabbed in, hooked on, melting together as he came again, and again, horrified and elated as he realized he was coming blood, tasting that same blood, bright and slick in the back of his throat...that his brother was killing him caused him no fear...when it was over they'd be joined...one...and Murphy would be safe...and there was, after all, no other reason for his existence.

He sank into it, let it happen, opening his eyes only once...and dream...because of course he had to be dreaming, right? RIGHT?! became nightmare as he saw his brother, poised above him, a snake about to deliver a final, killing strike...

"Oh...Murphy, WHY?"

It leapt out of him, agonized and confused, and from his brother...and he WAS there, looking down at him, that was no dream...there was no answer but his name, repeated, shouted...an endless litany between them of his desperate pleadings; "Why, Murphy? Brother...why?" with no reply but his name.

 

Murphy was utterly loathe to let Connor go...that need to connect that had taken him during their lovemaking not having dissipated in the slightest...and he wound around him, gaining every inch of contact possible, stroking his hair, his face, his lips...nudging him into slow, sweet, lingering kisses...all affection with no erotic motives. He didn't want to wind him up, not now. Hell...he didn't even want to wake him. He just needed to be close to him.

That Connor...his Connor...his heart, his soul, the other half of his mind...was somehow less than the ghost of a man who'd never been was something he wouldn't...couldn't...accept, yet the reality spoke for itself.

The rush of love, longing and connectedness he'd felt in that dream had rivaled anything he'd ever felt for Connor. And worse, he couldn't show him. Whoever...whatever...that thing had been, it had taken part of his will and locked it down...secret from Connor. He'd tried to tell him...both of them spent and languid in each other’s arms, he'd started to tell Connor what had happened to him...only to find his words blocked, log jammed in his throat...stuck.

And so...he kissed him, touched him, loved him...until his eyes stayed shut, his breathing evened out and he slept. It was all he could do.

What he couldn't do was sleep, and laying there holding Connor wasn't doing much to quiet his head.

Now that he'd begun to feel something close to human again...and as much as he hated the TPN pump, he couldn't deny how much better he'd felt once they'd started running nutrients in...his natural restlessness had started to take hold.

He needed to DO something.

Sighing, not really wanting to break contact, he extricated himself from Connor...no easy trick given that he'd managed to tangle both himself and his feed lines, but he managed it, feeling a little surge of pride when he realized he'd done it without waking his brother or yanking anything out, followed by his typical ironic consideration.

"This is what you're reduced to, MacManus? Pride at being able to get out of bed? Christ how the mighty have fuckin fallen. And now you're talkin t'yourself. That's real good, that."

Shaking his head in wonder at his own processes, he disconnected the pump, reflecting wryly that had he done that before he'd have simplified the entire getting out of bed scenario..."See where pride gets y'then, hmm?"...and went after his laptop. 

It hadn't taken him long to realize that no hacker in the world had anything to fear from him...and never would. Technical skills...evidenced not only by his complete inability to decode his dream people but by the alarm on the goddamn pump that went off every time he moved because he'd managed somehow to frig up a line on reattachment and couldn't figure out which one or how...would never be his thing.

Connor could do it, but with him blocked out he probably couldn't do much even if Murphy had been willing to wake him...no, he wouldn't bother Connor.

Smiling to himself...pleased he'd thought of it...scowling a moment later... pissed he was pleased...he wondered, as he shot off a text, how long it would be till peeing in the right place felt like an accomplishment.

It never even occurred to him that his satisfaction at these small things...and his irritation at it...was the result of his not inconsiderable intellect coming fully back online and already finding itself completely occupied.

Though he wasn't yet aware of it, Murphy MacManus...dormant for the better part of this 16 months in hell...was finally fully awake, kick started by a communication he'd never been meant to have, the first of many, had perceived and fully assimilated the threat to those he loved and had already engaged his Saint. He didn't know it yet...it was still far too deep...but he would, soon, along with everyone in their world, and it would be Terry, there to see it happen...and who was unashamed in any way of the intense thrill he experienced watching Murphy kick back on...who would phrase it the most succinctly.

Twins in the typical sense or not...the universe made a mistake of cosmic proportions when it fucked with Connor.


	81. Chapter 81

Terry, hung at the crossroads of elated, delighted, fascinated and alarmed...a state Murphy rarely failed to inspire in him, shook his head in wonder, smiling faintly, close to disbelief.

"Murphy... I can't...google up a dream. I can only find real people."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid, I will smack you where you stand. They..."

"You just sounded like my mom. I know, I know, you think they might be real people. I get that...but..."

"You think I'm bonkers."

"Yeah. Completely out of your mind."

"Understood. Will you help me, though?"

"How, Murphy? What..."

He broke off, frowning at the pump…once again blaring for attention.

"That's obnoxious...is that alarm FOR something?"

Murphy, thoroughly sick of the thing, punched the reset button with a growl.

"Yes. It means I fucked somethin up when I rehooked one of these. I can't figure out what."

"C'mon, lemme see it."

"Don't SIGH at me like that."

"Well, but...Murphy you know I love you, but Jesus you're like death to technology. All you have to do is touch it and it goes completely haywire. It's so weird...."

His fingers drifted over the lines like shadows, a deftness Murphy could only wonder at, locating the problem and fixing it in seconds.

"It should be ok now...because Connor's not like that at all. Where is he, anyway?"

"Asleep. Why's it weird we'd be different like that?"

"Don't you automatically know what he knows?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't make me good at it. Terry...listen. It's not just that you can find people."

"What, then?"

Typical Terry, for all of his comments regarding Murphy’s sanity, there was no shadow of doubt in his eyes. All affection, all respect in that warm honey glow...no derision, nothing but open curiosity.

"I need to tell you something that's gonna sound so much crazier...but...if I can tell anyone, it has to be you because...you know all their secrets. If anyone here knows about this, you know as well. And... you I trust to tell me the truth."

"Of course I will...and you already know I'll listen. Murphy...you have the strangest look right now."

Murphy didn't doubt it. He felt strange...skin crawlingly naked, exposed and deeply, sickly, inexplicably ashamed. Of what, he didn't know.

"I feel a little like what I'm about to tell you is the verbal equivalent of shitting myself in public. It's too...too intimate, maybe. Too personal. I don't know. But I have to tell you. It won't let me tell Connor."

"It...."

"After. I'll explain that after. Listen."

He sat down, looked across the table at Terry only for a moment and dropped his eyes.

"I can't even look at you. This is...Terry what I'm about to tell you isn't a dream. Ok? Be clear on that, it is not a dream. It's a memory. One we all have, we just usually can't access it. Someone....showed me where to find it. When I'm done I'll need you to find out if what I tell you is possible. Ok?"

"You remember it, but you're not sure it’s possible?"

"I know. I know how it sounds."

"' Ok Murphy. Tell me."

"I remember something that happened...before I was born."

"You mean like a past life?"

"No. But I remember where I was before here...no, like...like...inside."

"You mean in the womb, Murphy??"

"Maybe. Someplace....not dark. Not light. Just someplace. Someplace right. It wasn't quiet, wasn't loud. There were sounds and they were right, too. It was how it was meant for us. We've been together for...always. So connected, Terry. Soul connected. We've been each other’s husbands, wives, children, friends, brothers and sisters. We've brought each other into the world, we've seen each other out..."

"You and Connor"

"No! No, not Connor. That's what I'm trying to explain. Oh, he's been there. And there's a connection...souls connect. And they stay that way. All the people you've known....but no, not Connor."

"Who, then?"

"He doesn't have a name. Names are just for here. But...this time it was the closest we could get. One body, split into two. One for each of us."

"Twins."

"Twins. And Connor…he wasn't supposed to have any of this. Terry, the life he was supposed to have....he could have stopped y'know. He was at that point. He'd been through so much, he'd done so much...he had the chance to just rest...but he thought we'd need him. He would have had a beautiful life, though. No pain, no real loss, just...the life he deserved. Instead he got this. We signed up for this...he did too, in the end, because something went wrong.  
We were there, together, not me and Connor..."

"I know."

"There was no time from our perspective, but from here....about a month in something else came to be in there with us. Like us but not. It wasn't alive, exactly. It existed and it grew bigger, but nobody was there. It was...empty.

Something was going wrong with him, too. We were RIGHT THERE, together, right fucking there...and it all went wrong. I kept getting bigger...he didn't. He was alive, still, and we couldn't do anything anyways...but it got to where we could touch each other. And the other one, but there was a wall between it and us. We could touch it through the wall and we did. We wanted it to touch us back but it didn’t...couldn’t. The other one, the empty one...its heart beat, but not like ours. It was faint, and slow and it didn't sync the way ours did. Truly alive and empty.

Us and it, and we just never let each other go.

But he stayed small. And then one day he was just gone. Dead. And it was just me and a dead one and an empty thing. The empty thing...I think it was meant for him. They knew something had gone wrong. But that went wrong too. I know what it was...there's a...he was technically already in use. Like when you try to open a file wrong and it says it's already in use. He couldn't just switch over to the empty thing. He had to stay behind. But I had to be a twin. The way things were going to go I had to be a twin. Others needed it to be so that they could be. But he couldn't take the empty thing and so it was just me. Little by little he went away. Just disappeared...and then one day the empty thing was gone...it wasn't empty anymore. Its heart synced up with mine, and it touched me through the wall and I was a twin again."

"Connor"

"Yeah. He...we couldn't hold onto each other, there was a barrier. Our ma says that after we were born we held so tight she had to pry us apart. He traded in his life...his beautiful beautiful life for me...to be my twin. And even though I remember it...I need to know if it’s possible. Never mind souls and past lives or any of that. Is it really possible that it's a memory, Terry? And can that...extra baby...happen?"

Terry, spellbound and rapt for most of the time Murphy had been speaking, had to actually shake himself to break the spell.

"Murphy, my god. First of all yes it can be a memory. Hypnotists take people back to the womb all the time. Into past lives, too. Theoretically...every experience we have, including gestation, is imprinted in our brain. The only reason we don't remember is our limited capacity for retrieval. Yes, that could be memory. Or..."

"Or a mad hallucination."

"Yeah."

"And the other?"

"An extra fetus? A...a DORMANT fetus? I don't know."

"You can look, though."

"Yeah, I...Murphy?"

His face had changed, a blink, a flash...from apprehensive, nervous inquiry to a sudden, startled hiss of breath, and stabbing, blown out desire.

He looked seconds away from orgasm and Terry felt his own cock give a tremendous, aching throb. Christ...the things Murphy did to him just by being.

"Murphy, what's..."

"Connor."

He shook it off with a little laugh.

"He's dreaming. Hell of a fucking dream."

He rubbed absently at the swollen crotch of his jeans, more as if scratching an itch or rubbing at a pain than in any kind of desire.

"Every once in a while he gets so wild it just blasts down the line. Fuckin uncomfortable as hell."

"I know, I remember. He did it to you when you were in the hospital."

He fought the urge to touch himself, by no means as unselfconscious as Murphy was, keeping his eyes as far from Murphy’s hand on his dick as he could, swearing to himself...not for the first time...to sublimate the attraction, understanding Collin’s ongoing refusal to even try to resist Connor a little more with every passing second. These two could flip your switch not only on, but to full power in a breath.

It was annoying as hell.

"Murphy, not to be a buzzkill, but if you sit there and rub one out right now I..."

Murphy’s laugh, delighted and teasing, cut him off.

"Oh, look at you! You're so fuckin cute, Terry."

He leaned across the table, tangible mischief in his eyes, and planted a none too brief kiss on Terry’s lips, pulling away with a smile.

"You go on and do whatever you need to do and if you need help you just let me know."

"Cut it out, Murphy."

He pushed him away, regretting the hell out of it, forcing his attention back to the laptop, ignoring Murphy’s infuriating little smirk.

"There was something else, right?"

Sighing, realizing his own predicament was going to have to go unrelieved for the time being, Murphy followed his lead, forcing as much of Connor’s erotic contagion into the background...no small feat, as waves of increasing sensation were breaking over him as Connor approached his climax. 

"There is. Two people. The..."

"Dream people yeah. Back up a second though. How do you know this...this memory...is a memory? I mean...how do you know there was ever a twin other than Connor?"

"I talked to him."

"You..."

Anger...fury as irrational as the arousal... suddenly flared in Murphy and his voice rose even as his eyes flashed cold fire.

"Talked to him, touched him, smelled him, TASTED him, I KNOW alright?! I RECOGNIZED him and it was a billion times stronger than ANYTHING I've EVER felt for Connor, I FUCKING KNEW HIM so don't you DARE question me!"

Terry, insightful enough to recognize the soul of the issue when he heard it, let Murphy’s sudden gust of rage blow  
over him, and kept his voice low.

"Ok. Ok....tell me the rest."

Murphy, riled up as he hadn't been in months, flung himself from the table, one hand gripping the triad of lines feeding into his arm, on the verge of yanking it out.  
A burning, liquid pain had begun to flow over him, mixing with Connor’s impending orgasm, with his own anger....detonation seemed imminent.

"Unhook these before I rip them out, would you?"

His voice and expression seething, it wasn't a request, and Terry was on his feet before the last word was out, flicking off the pump and taking Murphy’s hand.

"Let go, Murphy."

For a second he thought he was about to get belted, then that Murphy would just go on and rip them out, but as he watched an enormous, trembling shudder ran through his friend, then another, forcing his hand away from the lines and over his mouth as its intensity gagged him.

Terry, concerned but no fool, took the opportunity, disconnecting the machine and pushing it out of reach, knowing there was a good chance Murphy would chuck it if he got a hand on it. That he might chuck HIM he didn't discount at all...something was coming to a head, here, and he knew full well he stood at ground zero.

Fully aware...he stood his ground and waited.

Murphy, overtaken by conflicting sensation, stood frozen as waves of incredibly painful orgasm shuddered through him, carried on a psychotic nightmare blend of fear, hate, fury, bliss and acceptance.

Connor’s dream had gone to nightmare with lightning speed, and instinct...long captive and dormant...screamed from its chains. Connor was dreaming. His dream was killing him. Murphy’s saint...the killer in him, the ruthless cold sniper who would do whatever had to be done...pulled, tugged, tore at his restraint.

It was a blip on his radar, nothing more, an instantaneous, immediately vanished moment of absolute knowledge...tied to Connor’s momentary glint of consciousness and then blinked out.

He saw, faster than the blink of an eye and gone, what his brother saw.

"Oh, Conn. That's not me."

Already headed for Connor at a run...and he had no idea he was even moving...he flung his mind out, hit a wall. His wall, the one in his own head, now apparently there to keep him from interfering.

Fuck that.

He was at Connor’s side without grasping how he'd come to be there, hands in his hair, shaking him, screaming in his face.

He thought, at first, he'd simply woken him up...Connor’s eyes, clear blue weeping red, opened immediately, blinking blood, looked into Murphy’s soul, and he reached with one red sparkling hand, touched his brothers face, spoke...voice thick around a throatful of blood. "Oh, Murphy. Why?"

It came clear, then, what was happening, and every bit of this new, safer, more user friendly Murphy shredded like silk in a hurricane...layers of convention, condition, considerations peeling away like so much dead skin.

This was Connor. THIS was his twin, and god help anyone....fuck, god help himself if that’s what it came to...this wasn't going to happen to him.

His eyes blazed, cold, blue...Murphy ENTIRE, and fell on Terry.

"Get out. You don't want to get caught in this."

"No. I'm not leaving."

"Then I can't help you."

He dismissed Terry as if he'd never been, reached for his brother, hands both on him and...in a sickening double image...sinking INTO him. His brother...alone, bleeding out on the bed. His brother wrapped in the arms of something he recognized as Murphy.

"Connor!"

His shout, loud enough to crack his throat, met with another agonized look from Connor.

"Connor, that's not me! Let go!"

No good. Connor’s gaze locked with his, didn't see him.

"Murphy why?"

He grabbed his hair, pulled hard, lifted him right off the bed.  
"Conn, it's NOT ME! Wake UP Conn."

Nothing. In too much pain already, nothing Murphy did would penetrate.

He spun on Terry, the momentary blast of love for the kid’s fearlessness just another weapon added to his arsenal. He'd use it, in a minute.

"Go get as much ice and water as you can, there's only a couple minutes."

No questions, no hesitation, he was gone and Murphy knew he'd be back in minutes.

"God bless him, Connor, that kid might just save you this time. Connor, this is gonna fucking hurt..."

He didn’t think his brother heard him, wasn’t willing to let him lose the sound of his voice even so.

"That's not me you're hangin onto Connor! You have to let him go!"

He sat him up, terrified at the blood running freely from his brother’s body, sent that terror down the link, battering at the barrier his other twin had erected.

It was him he spoke to as he took his brother in his arms and blasted all of the power of his saint...and Connor’s, that link one that could never be touched...at the block.

"Brother, you're KILLING him! Let him go, don't make me send you out there, we both know I can."

He felt the shiver in his soul...confusion, blinding love for him and for Connor, the desperate need for all three of them to connect, more than a little madness.

"Let him go! Connor, that's not me! Connor!"

He shook him, hard, glanced at Terry....already back, bless him...and...taking a breath, praying he was right, he linked their saints...fully, truly in sync...felt their combined power...and sent, in an instant, no barrier now, the truth to Connor, felt his brothers anger rise up.

"Good. C'mon, Conn...Wake yourself up...."

It wasn't happening. He was trying, Murphy could feel him, but the nightmare held.

Having just had to pull himself from the grip of this same kind of ghostheld dream, he knew even a saint would find it hard to tear through and shot a glance at Terry.

"Gimme ten seconds and dump it on him."

He held on, Connor’s head limp on his shoulder, everything he knew about the thing that had him, about all of it, transferred in an instant...no power in existence strong enough to block him now...clinging tighter as the bucket load of ice and water deluged them both and Connor came roaring awake, completely clear and utterly furious.


	82. Chapter 82

The clarity couldn't hold.

More importantly, from the perspective of absolute survival, the RAGE couldn't hold, and minutes after being catapulted into waking life...after hitting Murphy hard enough to knock him into the wall and just time enough to see his own gore slicked hands in front of his face...the rage faded, confusion reigned and the dream reclaimed him...held sway.

Connected, now, with Murphy, a vast new knowledge superimposed over the nightmare image of a gelid other twin melded to his flesh, some corrosive devouring poison dissolving everything he was.

He knew he was dreaming, knew the thing attached to him was little more than a thought...a thought he seemed helpless not to cling to.

It felt like Murphy. And Murphy WAS here.

The thing sucking him dry wasn't Murphy.

BUT...

Both of them were Murphy...and he...Connor...he who'd been here through everything and who had LOVED him...the rage tried to come again...dissipated...failed... had no place, held no foothold, as easily dissolved as Jell-O in the rain.

Enormous jealousy rose in him, envy...he could never be what this thing was and Murphy knew it too. It hurt MURPHY to know how much more this thing was to him...how much more real could it be?

He was nothing, to either of them, a pitch hitter who took over when someone else fucked things up...abandoned by them both.

His brother was killing him.

Seeing how it was, and how it wasn't...Murphy’s desperation palpable, his panicked heart forcing Connor’s into rhythm...he fought to get free, to jettison the crazy double exposure, reclaim his body and mind...and felt a million acid barbs sink through him, and fell away...his skin bubbled, blistered, bled...

"Oh, Connor c'mon, NO, nonono don't do this Conn..."

Murphy. That was Murphy. The Murphy who wasn't destroying him. He could see him, it was a struggle, but he could, just barely...hazy, shimmering beyond the veil occluding his vision. Beyond the Murphy right here in his face...the Murphy who smelled, tasted, felt like his Murphy...but wasn't...quite…his Murphy. Still...he couldn't let him go.

He stretched up, saw the blood on his hands, regret shivering through him...after all...dying...leaving Murphy alone...it wasn't right...and touched the doppelganger merged within him.

"Brother, why are you doing this?"

There was no voice, not really, but the taste in his mind was almost Murphy, almost heartbroken.

"I'm not. I'm NOT. You are."

"Connor, c'mon. Y'can't do this, brother. Let go of him, let him let go of you..."

"He's you."

My god, he was talking to both of them.

And there...with them now, his brother, real...solid...lying next to him, holding tight...he felt him...all warm skin and panicky beating heart, grabbing on, right through that ghost of a thought that also seemed to be his brother...right through and then....peeling him away.

They joined as he watched...no tearful, loving reunion this, this was killing Murphy....blazing cold blue fire down the link that held them...Connor wondrously aware that that flame had ignited his own so that he burned even as he bled... but Christ, Murphy, furious, terrified, agonized...blending into this other him, merging into one, and then tearing them BOTH away...and see? He'd known he was being abandoned...left blistered and bled out, discarded...

"Don't be an ass, Connor, you know I'd not leave you!"

Murphy, furious with him, grappling with someone...words ricocheting off each other like billiards, impossible to understand.

Not that he needed to...the fire that was Murphy had sparked his own, burning away the film over his eyes as the dream, once and for all, crumbled to ash around him.

In its last vestiges he saw them both...as clear and bright as day...his brother and...his brother...hands clasped, foreheads pressed together...infinite sadness stamped on both faces. Why be sad? Because they hadn't gotten rid of him quite yet? Not that it would be long...

"Stop, Connor. Nobody tried to get rid of you. Nobody EVER would."

That cold fire turned, then, shone on that other Murphy...visible now only through his twins mind...burned him through, burned him away...destroying the connection they’d been born to forever. Murphy had made himself unreachable...and so done the same for him. Had done it ONLY for him. He'd finally found his true soul...infinitely loved and longed for...and had denied him. Ripped him away, burned the link.

Guilty regret…enormous and untenable...washed him through.

So much for Murphy’s miracle.

"He was the other half of you."

He'd thought he could speak...entirely mistaken. The words rode out on a liquid breath, seemed to steal the next.

Didn't matter...Murphy understood him. Murphy ALWAYS understood him.

"YOU are the other half of me. Only you. Please don't try to talk, Conn, don't even move, just hold on to me."

That was easy enough, and about all he could do. The distant, hazy shimmer of reality had clarified and brought with it a liquid, trickling, crawling burn of magnificent intensity...a pain so pure and clear it almost felt holy.

He felt like he'd been burned alive, and his skin bore that out...where it wasn't bloody it was blistered, in places gone entirely...as if his brothers removal of the dream parasite had taken his skin with it.

He felt suddenly, appallingly sick...hot, cloistered, unable to breathe...miserable unmanning nausea licking at his throat…so close to vomiting he didn’t dare move, skin on fire.

"Let me get help, Murphy."

That was Terry...texting on Murphy’s nod...

Terry...gently...tenderly, rinsing away the blood, revealing the freakishly undamaged skin beneath, reaching out, softly touching his face, brushing soaked, bloody, sweaty hair from his eyes, pressing cool cloths onto blistered abraded flesh on his arms, hands, chest...Terry, whose tears dripped down onto his face.

"Connor, you're really back?"

Murphy answered for him...feeling himself how sick Connor was. An extra word would tip him over.

"He's almost back. Is someone coming?"

"David. I told him to bring IV's...and blood. You know he'll want to take him."

"Good. He needs to. Can you get a blanket for him?"

He turned his gaze to Connor, frowning as the pain crested...peaked...fell back, crested again...he was barely breathing.

"Connor, brother...don't you dare leave me."

No, he wouldn't. It just hurt to breathe.

And now here was Terry, covering him with a blanket that felt like razors.

"No…"

He pushed it away, shivering, his refusal met with typical stubborn Murphy.

"Yes. I know it hurts but..."

It came to him from his brothers mind...his whole body leaking blood, lymph...shock, pain, blood loss, huge tracts of missing skin.

He accepted the blanket, felt it settle onto raw flesh like a brand.

"Murphy, what happened to him?"

Terry, bless his heart, sounding so scared, so freaked out. He wanted to take his hand...couldn't move...and felt Murphy’s finger tap his forehead...not at all gently.

"THIS happened. You've been there when he disappears into his head and drops the temperature in the room 20 degrees. Same thing. His fucking mind..."

"But what HAPPENED Murphy! Seriously, what the fuck kind of crazy bullshit do the two of you have going on? He's halfway bled to death..."

Murphy’s sigh, angry, impatient and weary....he was about to snap at this kid...or worse...sparked a little life in Connor.

He didn't want to speak...but he didn't want Murphy...especially not this Murphy...running down this boy. He stilled his brother with a thought and reached for Terrys hand, by some miracle caught it.

"Don't push him, Terry. He's not the Murphy you know."

"I can see that. I don't really care, Connor! For god sake..."

"I'm not gonna die, y'know..."

A sad truth, that...death became the least disagreeable idea with every passing second but it wasn't really close.

"It looks..."

He had to stop, swallowing hard on the gag trying to happen.

"...a lot worse than it is."

"Not a LOT worse."

Murphy’s tone was gruff, but no longer angry. Hearing his brother speaking coherently had taken a good deal of the edge off almost immediately.

"He...Terry I really can't explain this now...something tried to connect with him and...couldn't. He thought it was me and latched on. It hurt him...it...fuck. It wasn't intentional, it just didn't work!"

There it was, flaring up again, anger and hurt and infinite loss, stinging Connor to his core.

"THIS is what it was doing to his...soul...or…his sense of who he is. It started to dissolve it. He couldn’t let go, he got confused."

The anger had faded again, replaced with a deep, sad affection, fingers twisting, gentle and soothing in his brother’s hair.

"For a while he just didn’t have the information. It was blocked from him...he didn’t know. He didn’t understand what was happening till I busted through that block, but by then they were...attached. When we're hurt, we grab onto each other. He grabbed on. He knew it wasn't me...but at the same time it WAS me. Exactly me. It was too much. He was too confused. He couldn’t let go. This is what he felt...and his mind made it physical."

"So it's not real?"

"It's real! Real enough to kill him if it kept on! It's his blood, and there's a fuckload more of it out than there should be. All this..."

His fingers brushed the edge of his brother’s chest where the skin was gone.

"I pulled them apart and THIS...this is how much it hurt him. Hurt us all, but him the most..."

But now Connor was tugging at him, weirdly childish, almost...almost…funny.

"What, Connor."

He felt it, then, something his brother wanted him to know...unbelievably, infuriatingly, exasperatingly after all this...

"STILL BLOCKED!? Oh my fucking....Connor DON'T!"

He felt his intention immediately, every alarm in his body going off at once.

"Whatever it is we can figure it out later, don't you dare do it!"

He knew as soon as he said it it was useless. His brother was going to blow the block and fuck all what happened to him when he did.

"No, listen. Murphy, listen!"

"Connor..."

"Listen! I'm not gonna get two tries."

He wasn't sure he'd even get one. Already at the edge of endurance, he could feel a demonic sort of sickness building in his throat, something he only hoped he could speak through.

But of course that was the idea. Shut him up. Don't let him help.

Fuck that.

He sat up, propped himself against the wall, waited out the rush, and trapped his brothers eyes in his.

"Pay attention. This is gonna fucking suck. I don't know who the older guy is, but...."

Yeah, he'd known it was coming, braced himself because here it was.

The nausea that hit him defied description...and had he had the means he might have taken his own life in that first horrific instant as his throat closed, reversed, and he felt himself turned inside out...breath stopped for too long...too long…

"Connor for fuck sake just let it go!"

Fuck that. He knew...knew...it wouldn't kill him. Murphy was still on their fucking cosmic payroll. Murphy had to be a twin. He was it...so fuck 'em.

He waited it out, felt it let go, didn't even try to catch a breath, spit the words out.

"Your other son's gonna..."

It took him again, and he retched until he felt something give, didn't care. Whatever it was they could fix it.

Longer this time, long enough to scare him a little...what if he was wrong...but in the end it let him go, let him breathe, and this time he had no choice, he had to take a minute.

Good. Let them think they'd won.

He heard the door open, the clatter of people and things, heard voices raised in discord, ignoring all of it but Murphy’s "Touch him right now and I will kill you." No idle threat and they knew it.

Fuck, though, if the world would just stop spinning...

Fuck it.

His eyes found Murphy’s again and he went for it, knowing this was it. If he didn’t get it out now he wasn’t going to. They hadn't managed to make him vomit...probably because he was dead empty...but they'd surely fucked up his throat, he could feel it all too well.

"He's gonna die if you don't..."

He'd gloated a little too soon, because this time something came up…almost nothing, drops, sickish sweet sour, burning and acrid, creeping up his throat, over his tongue, the taste alone gagging him again, too little spit out.  
Fuckers.  
He talked right through it. Murphy would get it. He always did.  
"...bring him home."

One more horrid wave, one more gut wrenching spasm and it quit, leaving him spitting and desperate for water, ice, drugs, a gun...anything to get rid of the taste in his mouth, the pain in his throat, the burning on his skin.

"Murph..."

Christ it hurt to talk. Was he even making words?

"Matty’s a twin. They took him. He's gonna die if you don't bring him home. Not Matty. Your other son."

He couldn't say more...didn't have to. He saw the steel rise in his brother’s eyes and knew they'd won.

Ridiculously...he felt himself smiling.


	83. Chapter 83

He hadn't said much when they took Connor...there hadn't really been much to say.

As dramatic...and painful...as the incident had been, they both knew no lasting damage had been done.

Nothing physical, at any rate.

On a weirdness scale he figured they were both pretty close to maxxed out, and for once, being together only exacerbated the problem. It happened only rarely that the twins needed space from each other, but when they did...they did. And right now...yeah...with resentment bouncing off jealousy and ricocheting into high piss off...skittering around on a floor of insane worry, fear, and confusion...they did.

Sighing as he wiped blood off the floor, he had to appreciate that at least they'd been able to tell the honest truth. There was too much deception around here by half and he was glad not to have added to it. When David had asked them what happened, Murphy had simply told him. Connor had gone to sleep fine and woken up blistered, bleeding and vomiting.

End of story.

He supposed the doctors would come up with something...medical minds hated a mystery...and a brief tap at Connor’s mind unsurprisingly showed a nearly identical thought run, brought back a ruefully amused return touch.

They wouldn't keep him long.

He hoped, vaguely, that Connor wouldn't be too fazed by the blood...it had splattered pretty well everywhere and he wasn't making much progress with it.

Sighing again, thinking it might just be best to shut the door on it and move, he flung the rag he was using into a corner, and went to check on Terry.

Wild eyed and paper pale, he'd stayed with Murphy until Connor was gone and then...wordlessly...took himself to the fire escape and settled, laptop cum security blanket, in his lap, an almost tangible signal to back off around him like a bubble.

He was freaked the fuck out, enough by the high level of weird with Connor burning his own skin off in a dream, even more with what he'd said, and who could blame him?

Certainly not Murphy, but well...himself he'd had enough space for the time being.

He found him back in the kitchen, still pale, squinting one eyed at his computer, incredulity and hurt stamped on his face...something that ignited every one of Murphy’s already flayed nerves and set his teeth on edge.

What had he found to put that look on his face? What he was looking for, of course. Proof of this latest, worst deception of all.

Fuck it, he wasn't even touching it. Not now.

"We're nothing if not the world’s biggest biohazards, Terry. Between all the puke and blood..."

"And every other bodily fluid known to man, Murphy, you got that right."

He looked up less reluctantly than usual...when had he ever seen Terry relieved to look away from information?

"S' it coming up?"

"No. It looks like a gangland killing in there."

He fell into a chair, lit a cigarette and passed it to Terry, lit another for himself, and sat back, wincing as tense muscles finally relaxed.

He watched Terry for a minute, absent smoke rings floating above his head, reached across the table and tapped his hand.

"You ok?"

"Sure."

Lying through his teeth.

"Got a headache, huh?"

"How do you..."

"I can SEE it. There's painkillers in the cabinet if you want 'em. He's gonna be ok, y'know. I never would have stayed back otherwise."

"I'm surprised you did. I expected you two to be attached at the hip for the next week."

Murphy’s eyes widened at the tone, amusement and anger scuffling for dominance somewhere behind his mind.

"You mad about something, then?"

He didn't hear the lilt come into his voice, didn't notice the heightening receptivity as his switch moved from off to standby. Already back in it, it was once again as natural as breathing, and with his nerves in the state they were every sense was irritable. 

Murphy may not have noticed.

Terry did, and it did nothing for his temper.

"What, am I on notice now, Murphy? You gonna scope me out?"

He hauled on the smoke, used what was left to gesture.

"Go on, then, make sure I'm worthy. God knows I can't possibly have proved by now you can trust me. It's never enough with you two, is it. Oh, and by the way, not that it matters after all that...the points fairly moot since the evidence is all over the fucking floor...but..."

"Stop."

"What."

"Don't sit there and rag on me, TELL ME. What're you pissed about?"

He lit another cigarette off the butt of the first, crushed it out and leaned forward.

"And I'd suggest you watch your fuckin tone. Make no mistake...you haven't even met me."

He meant the warning, not sure he could hold his temper. On a normal day he'd have been as safe for Terry as breathing. This was no normal day, and he didn't even feel safe for himself to be around.

Both in the same boat, the result was fairly inevitable.

"Whatever, Murphy. I'm never gonna be afraid of you so you can..."

He broke off, inwardly cursing the startled gasp that escaped him when Murphy’s hands...and where did he COME from? How had he moved so fucking fast?...snaked behind his head, tangled in his hair, gripped tight and pulled him forward.

"Let me go."

Murphy, a curiously unpleasant smile hovering over his features, tightened his grip, pulled harder, and pressed their foreheads together, one hand moving to grip the back of Terrys neck...entirely dominant, disturbingly intimate and utterly alien to who Terry knew Murphy to be.

He still didn't think Murphy...even this Murphy...would hurt him...this was all about control and even held captive here he could see it...but the flailing, helpless sense of having no clue what he WOULD do...where this was going...of not knowing where in there his FRIEND had gone that he would think for even a second that this was necessary...was too much.

He felt the fight run out of him and...infuriatingly...felt tears prickling behind his eyes, aching in his throat.

"Murphy...let me go."

Soft now, thick with the ache in his throat, there was only weariness…no defiance…in his voice...though there was, it seemed, still some in Murphy.

For a moment the hand tangled in Terrys hair tightened, and he heard as well as felt the snap of tiny hairs ripping from his scalp, felt his forehead pressed painfully into Murphy’s...shock overriding everything when Murphy finally spoke...seemingly pulling the crux of the matter, unspoken, from Terrys mind.

"You didn’t know. You’ve always known all of it, but you didn’t know this. That they didn't tell you is not our fault. In case y'haven't noticed, this is no picnic for us, either, and you're certainly not the only one who's been lied to. You...unwilling keeper of aaall their secrets..."

The hand tightened still further, dragged a whine from his throat.

"...well, here's one they kept even from you. Welcome to our LIFE. It's awful, isn’t it? Worse than awful. Its fucking intolerable when you find out the people you trust with your life...the people you'd protect with your life... don't trust you. Lie to you. Cut you out. I know...it happens to us over and over and over."

Hand gripping tighter with each "over" the feeling of being brutalized by someone he loved, and the realization that he couldn't get away, finally tipped Terry over and he felt tears spill down his face....what Murphy...not exactly sure why he wanted to hurt this boy he loved, only that he did...had been waiting for.

His grip relaxed, became deep stroking.

"But it's not our fault, Terry, and we've never blamed you for it so DON'T..."

He abruptly let go, shoved him  
away, not quite hard enough to knock him over.

"...blame it on us. And watch your fuckin tone."

Silence reigned for a minute and for Murphy, the very air seemed to hold its breath.

He'd known as soon as he let go...and the judgey little tap from Connor only rammed it home...that he was being an ass.

Bleeding his shredded nerves all over the one person here who'd never been strange, never been cryptic, never been part of the whole weird scene.

All this kid had ever been was his friend, in the simplest, truest sense of the word. 

Proof...that this kid thought of him as his friend and nothing more, nothing weird...came a moment later when Terry, far from being awed at seeing Murphy click on....though that wasn't to say he wasn't excited, hell yes he was, still was, even pissed off...called bullshit.

"Y'know, Murphy...I never did any of that to you. And if you think I'm going to roll over and give you my balls because you went all big dog on me, think again."

Murphy’s eyes rose in surprise...there was no attitude in Terrys voice...just a quietly simmering insulted anger...but he hadn't expected him to say anything at all. Still…he'd told him to watch his tone and that's exactly what he was doing.

The content left a little to be desired.

"Big dog. Is that what you think?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"You're just not gonna back off, are you."

"Nope."

Completely conversational and utterly without rancor, he continued, giving Murphy no space to get a word in even as his eyes once again scanned the screen in front of him, fingers tapping out code.

“The whole fucking universe is stomping the shit outta the both of you, and you've never been the type to tolerate being taken down. And then the quiet little computer geek snapped at you. Big dog. At the speed of fucking light. Whatever. You won. You made me cry. But..."

"Terry..."

"...BUT don't expect me to just fold up and make myself small. And you ripped a bunch of my hair out. Dick move. And you were wrong. You got what I was mad at, but I NEVER blamed you. The thing is, though, Murphy...if you can't vent a little on your friends...especially the ones who do it to you all the fucking time, who are doing it at the SAME fucking time...well, they aren't much, are they. Here."

He spun the screen around, shoved it toward Murphy.

"There's your potential evidence of memory. The odd spare fetus has been documented at least once. Conception of a twin sometimes weeks after the first has also been documented half a dozen times. And if you click here...."

He tapped an icon.

"You'll find your proof that..."

His voice broke suddenly, surprising them both, and he pushed away from the table, eyes filling.

"You're just gonna have to read that on your own."

He was out the door before Murphy...still more or less speechless…realized he was going.

He felt Connor nudge at him again, felt his twins infuriating satisfaction at his having been put in his place.

Sighing, accepting with no choice that he was somehow surrounded by the unimpressed...growling a little as the signal came down from Connor; family was what he was surrounded by.

Well God bless and fuck off.

He slammed the computer shut...unwilling to look at it. If it had been too much for Terry in his present state, he didn't think he'd fare much better....it was there. He'd look at it.

Much later.

He flicked the end of his smoke on the floor, stepped on it, and went back to cleaning up the blood.


	84. Chapter 84

The sunlight lay in flat, golden strips...solid and heavy in a way it could never quite achieve in Boston.

Heavy on the brick and heavy on the skin, he felt that wet, deep warmth sinking through flesh and into bone, thawing what felt like a lifetime of frozen aches.

Lord, but it felt good. His skin felt good...more relaxed, looser fitting, soothed.

Wherever he was, the very air...so fragrant he could taste it, redolent with jasmine, sweet olive and moonflower... seemed healing and he wanted to stay.

"Where is this place?"

The young man next to him...infuriatingly similar to someone he knew but couldn't place...laughed and shook his head.

"Can't tell you, but if you pay attention maybe you'll bring enough back with you to figure it out."

"Figure it out..."

He doubted that. Everything about the street looked alien. Houses dripping gingerbread and color, decked in ornate iron...or in some cases brutal burglar bars...huge front and side porches, plants as crowded as the buildings...so close to each other they almost touched.

Brick, concrete, moldering termite rotted wood fronted directly onto sidewalks so rutted, root distorted and overgrown they were all but impassible, giving way to narrow, car lined streets, as potholed and crumbled as the sidewalks...all of it overlaid with that shimmering, fragrant heat...and heavy, strong on the wind, the scents of water, mud and diesel.

Figure it out?

The breeze brought in a sound...rough, long, a million hands rubbed on a million balloons.

Ungodly loud.

"What's THAT?"

"A boat."

"A BOAT?"

"Yeah, we're only two blocks off the river."

River. There, then, the source of the tidal smell.

"This is way too detailed to be a dream."

"Do you think so? I'm not the one running this show, Murphy, so talk to your own set decorator about the lack of dreamily luster. Listen, I don't know how long I can keep you and we need to talk."

"We do. You have my son."

"I thought he must be, when I saw you. Once I'd thought about it, it all made sense. But you can't take him, Murphy. You can't bring him back there. I spent most of my life fighting my way out...I don't want him to have to go through what being there does to you."

Unable to argue with the sentiment, and unwilling to be confrontational and turn dream to nightmare, he only nodded.

Under his feet, the sidewalk tripped into a tangle of broken brick and cracked, lettered tile.

"This place feels so old. What is that?"

"The tiles? The street name. They used to all be set into the sidewalks, but they broke, or people stole them and the city never replaced them."

"What the fuck is that word?"

Laughing, puzzled, confused and enraptured he could feel the dream spell trying to distract him. Of course. They weren't meant to be talking, but it was known, now, that force wouldn't work short of killing them.

He supposed this enchantment must be Plan B.

"No, Murphy. Not distraction. Detail. You have to remember it. That word was Dauphine. That's the street we're on. If you look at the next two cross streets you'll see someone had a sense of humor. Murphy...you have to understand. I'm not going back."

"You're Gavin, right?"

"Yes."

"And he's Cody."

"Yes. Look."

"What...Piety? That's a street name?"

"It is. Remember it when you see the next one."

"Gavin..."

"Just pay attention to the sidewalks, Murphy."

"I know. I am. Gavin. Cody has a twin."

"I know. Cody dreamed about him. He died when they were born. He was the donor twin. Too small to live. Look it up."

"He's alive. He lives with us. He dreamed about Cody. His name's..."

"I don't want to know his name!! DON'T tell me his name! Here, check this one."

"Desire. Really?"

"Next to Piety. Told you someone had a sense of humor. Keep looking around."

"I can see inside these houses. They look real. The people..."

"They ARE real! Get it through your head! If you wake up thinking this was just a pretty dream...I have a twin who lives with you, too. A brother. Murphy, I DON'T want you to find us."

"I know. What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is, it's not new. With either of them. Yours OR mine. You still paying attention? Close?"

"Yes. This is where I was before."

"Both of you. That was incredibly brave...what you did."

"What WE did."

"He was ok with it?"

"No! Neither of us. But we did it."

"Why?"

"Resonance. There can't be three of us, it resonates. It was killing Connor and he's the one who needs to be."

"And you do what you have to do to make sure people survive. At least I understand who I'm dealing with. Later on...you're going to come to me... in the waking world. I don't want you to. You're going to want to take us back. For your twins, and for my twin. I can't tell you what might happen with your boys...I can't see the future...but I won't go back for my brother."

"Even if he'll die without you?"

"I can't save him, Murphy. He wouldn't let me even if I could. You know he's dying, but not who he is."

"I know who he is. I just can't...."

"Get at it?"

"Exactly. Something's blocking it."

"Probably him. Remember this house, Murphy. And no, don't even think about it. You can't go in. You can't see him. It's time for you to go. If you go that way you'll hit the river. I'd suggest you walk back that way."

"Walk back where?"

"Wherever you came from. I'd go now if I were you. There's a storm coming down the river and they come in fast down here."

Murphy, strangely pleased at how adept he'd become at translating what was presumably his own dream code, grimaced a little as Gavin’s meaning came clear.

"Busted, huh?"

"'Fraid so. Don't forget what you saw. You better go."

He stepped away, and Murphy felt his focus narrow, lasering in on his every move.

Three steps from sidewalk to rusted, spiked gate, one step through, half a step to the bottom brick stair riser...Christ the gate was almost set through the bottom step…one, two, three, four brick steps onto the porch. No gaudy splashes of color here...though the crowding of plants was extreme... no fancy iron on the enormous windows, just wooden rails halfway up from the bottom, the same colorless, weathered wood as the rest of the narrow little house.

In the doorway...beyond it a darkness Murphy’s eyes couldn't penetrate...Gavin turned, hint of a smile playing on his face.

"It's not gonna fall down, Murphy. It's solid. Worn, maybe. Weathered. It's seen a lot of storms...it's weathered a couple hundred years of people, too... and it's come through them all. It has its scars...but it's solid. It's strong shelter. And it's not going anywhere. Kind of reminds me of you. Now get yourself gone."

He vanished through the door, and Murphy turned his face toward the river, breathing deep of that weird, healing air...glanced into the sky...and blinked awake onto the cold dawn light of Boston, silver gray on his ceiling.

No transition, no interlude...just awake, his brother sleeping, deep and dreamless, beside him.

His hand reached out, wholly automatic without the breath of a thought, twining the ends of Connors hair, grounding the waking world through his fingertips...through softness and sleep sweat and faint, radiant warmth.

What kind of universe was it that it thought he'd risk his brother...this wondrous, beautiful being who completed everything about him...the thought foil to his impetuous emotion, the one who'd take the time to talk to people first, forever reigning in Murphy’s full speed ahead charge into confrontation.

They'd have never made it without him, and it occurred to him that losing his original twin might not have been a mistake but rather a correction.

Two people of like temperament would have gotten themselves...and God knew who else...killed several times over.

Maybe it had always been meant to be Connor.

Smiling in the dark, turning on his side to take him in, a rush of feeling burned through him, enormous and breathtaking, indescribable in its complexity, bringing a strange, lyrical phrasing, whispered into his brother’s ear before he even considered speaking.  
"It's louder than love. I don't think I know what it means."

Connors sleeping return smile seemed to answer it, and, satisfied...though with what he wasn't sure...he kissed his brothers head, slipped from their bed, into jeans, and padded barefoot into the kitchen where Terrys laptop...sitting there in brooding, closed case judgement...waited for him to open it up and confront what he'd been looking for.


	85. Chapter 85

He sat, chin in hand, not quite brooding, eyes unfocused as his thoughts turned inward.

He knew, without a doubt now, what had been done and had a fair idea when. What he didn't know....and couldn't seem to piece together...was who. Or why.

It seemed as senseless, as meaningless and mad as that horrible spiral room...

Ah, well...his feet were cold, his thumping head was hours overdue for coffee, and rethinking it a thousand times wouldn't give him any more knowledge than he had right now.

Still...it jabbed at him, an unshakeable feeling that he'd missed something.

Of course, half his hang-up was the dreams, and how neatly things fell into place if he regarded the dreams as reality...something he was loath to do. Even he didn’t like the deluded implications of using dream information as evidence.

Lost in thought, he nearly missed the soft sound of footsteps, the stir of air that signaled Connor’s arrival...nearly missed...catching his presence just in time not to jump when his brother’s arms wrapped around him from behind.

As it was, he suddenly felt able to breathe again, unaware of how tense he'd really been until he relaxed into Connor’s embrace, let his head fall back onto his brothers chest, felt the silken brush of his hair as he kissed him.

"Oh, God, Connor. Jesus you feel good..."

Just to lean against him...a little bliss, the kind of gift you took whenever it came...thankfully and with no greed for more.

"You could just stand there and hold me all day..."

He could almost taste the little gleam of humor as his brother kissed his neck...teasing, only teasing. He knew Connor too well to fall for this tricky little seduction. The only thing really on his brother’s mind was coffee, and in that he agreed.

"...but get off me y'faker. I know what’s on your mind and it's not me."

"It is you. Just after coffee."

One kiss to the top of the head, and Connor stepped away...a little stiff, a little sore, a little unsteady...but moving, thinking, functioning....making coffee.

Hours ago they'd both thought he was dying and here he was spooning coffee into the filter with hands that only shook a little....

"You been up all night, Murph?"

"Most of it. Worth it, though."

He turned to look at him, resting his chin on his arm flung over the back of the chair, deceptively relaxed.

Every nerve in his body was on alert, his eyes still imprinted with the shadow of his brother’s blood.

"You feelin ok, Conn?"

"Reasonably. Why, do I look wrecked?"

"Not wrecked exactly...real white though. Lemme see the damage."

Nodding, Connor finished with the coffee and sat down, rucking up his t-shirt along the way revealing skin only a little raw, a little reddened, slightly blistered...nothing worse than any one of a million summer sunburns they'd had.

Murphy, surprised out of his filter, heard the words leave his mouth before he could consider stopping them.

"Well. Weird stigmata heals stupid fast, huh?"

"Oh, stigmata now is it? Don't think I won't use that."

He pulled his shirt back down with a little hiss, nodding at Murphy’s frown.

"Still hurts a little. Bitch of a headache, too."

"Don't do anything much today, then, Conn. Seriously. You're awful pale."

"I'm not about to."

He nodded toward the laptop as the coffee pot gasped out its finish and he got up again.

"You want to show me that?"

"I want you to sit down! Now!"

The alarm in Murphy’s voice registered simultaneously with the creep of ice through his veins, the bloom of enormous black flowers before his eyes and the ungodly feeling that his skull was pressing in on his brain.

"What the..."

And then Murphy had him, arms solid and warm and pushing him back into his chair.

"Now Connor. Sit. I just watched every speck of the little color you had run right out of your face..."

"Yeah..."

He put his head down, startling a little as a voice, harsh as a blackbird, called from memory...  
"People! Heads down for ten minutes!"...smelled graphite, crayons, maple syrup and peanut butter...

"Murph…"

His brother’s hand rested warm on his neck, chasing the chill that still lingered, and he relaxed under his touch, felt the buzz in his head begin to recede.

"D'you remember that teacher we had who used to make us put our heads down on our desks every day for ten minutes?"

"I do, yeah."

"It's not at all uncomfortable."

"Well I'm glad to hear that. Look up, Conn, look at me....can y'see yet?"

"Yeah. For a minute though there were these..."

"Great fucking black things, I know. Did your head feel like something was squeezing it?"

"It did."

"Happens to me all the time, cept I know enough to sit the fuck back down and not stand there watching things turn black till I pass out."

"Seems to me...will you pour me some fuckin coffee brother!...that I remember you bustin your face a number of times...."

"How d'you think I learned when to sit back down? Connor..."

He handed him coffee, liberally laced with sugar, rested the back of his hand briefly against his forehead, frowned, and sat down with his own cup.

"Don't fuss that it's too sweet, it'll help. You really shouldn't be up."

"I'm not sick, Murphy. I just stood up too fast."

"I think you might be, a little. You're kinda hot."

"I'm not, Murph."

"Well...you're fucking grounded, then. You're not goin anywhere."

"You gonna stop me, then?"

"You gonna try me?"

It wasn't serious, not yet, but they could both feel the edge approaching, both riding the line between wanting to defuse it, needing it to explode.

"You're worrying about nothing, Murphy."

"The hell I am! Connor you almost bled to death."

"Not to DEATH, Murphy, Jesus. Be dramatic."

"You didn't clean it up."

"No, but I did after you, didn't I."

"And there hasn't been a minute since that you haven't ragged my ass."

"Well what would y'have me do, brother! D'y'think...oh fuck it. Y'know...in a couple minutes we're gonna fuckin fight, and look at us. It'll be the last fuckin straw that finishes us off! They'll come in here and find two dead idiots."

"Well, just fucking stay down today then and let me fucking worry! Would it kill y'to take it easy for a day?!"

"I'm not going anywhere, brother. Never was. But you got so riled up about it..."

"You're such a shit. I fucking hate you."

"I know y'do. Move over here, I want to see that."

Murphy slid the laptop toward his brother, the now familiar treble pitch of anxiety once again tightening his chest. He'd read the things, now, so many times and was no closer to understanding what these people thought they were doing. Falling back into reverie, eyes falling into dimness, he was startled alert again by his brother tugging at his hand.

"C'mon back, Murph, you'll get nowhere drifting around in your head. Get over here and show me what you got.

Sighing, not at all excited by the prospect of going over it again, he slid his chair in next to Connor’s, smiling in spite of himself when his brother pulled him in...so close their heads touched.

"Did y'want to wear me then, Conn?"

"I want to do a lot more than that, but I don't think I have it in me."

His tone turned abruptly serious and Murphy ached inside at the weariness in his voice.

"Just...stay close, brother. Just..."

"I know. I know, I'm not moving."

He worked himself in a little closer, smiling again as he felt the boundary blur and their edges lost distinction. For this little space in time, where one ended and the other began would remain intangible and he loved it.

He didn't love the little hiss and squint when Connor looked at the screen, though. Not at all. 

"Y'know, Conn, I could just tell you. You already have a headache, staring at this shit isn't gonna help."

"CAN you tell me? There's some weird shit going on, brother. Every time we mention it..."

"You feel worse. I know."

He didn't feel it take him, didn't sense the flattening behind his eyes, or feel the honing of the connection between their minds. Already acclimated...just like that. Connor...who both saw and felt their saints link...wisely kept quiet, damping down the surge of wonder...and pride...before his twin could notice, listening with ever increasing satisfaction as Murphy came back into his own.

"Fate tries to step in and shut Murphy McManus up...fails...moves to plan B. Attack the people I love. If I push through and tell you it'll stop y'know. You won't die. You won't be seriously hurt. You're too valuable. Who will it move on to, though? Who's expendable? Who can die to teach me my place? I already know my place..."

"Aye. So...tell me, brother."

"They took one of the babies, Connor. Matty IS a twin...there was something wrong with both of them. It's on there..."

He nodded at the laptop.

"They might have both died, but neither of them did. One...Matty...was seriously tiny. His birth weights on there...just barely three pounds..."

"Christ. He's still tiny."

"He is. The other one, Cody...he was BIG. Little over ten pounds. He's still big, too. They tried to make it out that one of them had died...get this. The records here say that Matty is the surviving twin. Gavin said they told him Cody is the surviving twin. They separated them, Conn, God knows why. They sent one away. And they didn't want anyone to know."

"Who, exactly, is "they" brother?"

"I don't know. I don't know who or why. There are birth records...real and faked, death records, certificates of stillbirth, adoption records..."

"Adoption? They...."

"Fake. All fake. The only two real records in there are their original birth certificates. They were filed with the city by someone...again I don’t know who...before they decided to get shady with it I guess."

"Murph...does Maura know?"

"That she had twins? Absolutely. She named them. Or did you miss..."

"I didn't miss it."

"Does she know they were separated? Does she think one died? Did SHE send one away? I don't know. And I don't know who here was in on it. Except that Terry wasn't. I’m sure about that. I need your help with that."

"How?"

"Not right now...I don't want you to do anything right now except go back to bed...but when you feel better, you can find out who sent him away, and who here...you're better at cyber spying than I'll ever be."

"What about who has him, Murph?"

"I know who has him. Gavin has him. He has a brother here, a twin, and his twins sick. I almost know who he is. I also got a ton of information...street names, what the whole neighborhood looks like. I can find it."

"His twins sick?"

"Yeah. He..."

"Murphy. Did you SEE him?"

"Yeah. I know exactly who he looks like but I can't place it. It's blocked"

"You...Murphy."

Connor’s voice went quiet, the dark fullness of horror filling his mouth. As sure as he drew breath, it had come to him...who it MUST be. But oh, god, if it was? If it was it would tear Murphy apart.

"Murphy....aw Christ. Is it Bodhi?"


	86. Chapter 86

Of course it was. As soon as Connor said it, the image of Gavin filled both of their minds.

That same caramel hair and eyes so pale they seemed colorless until the light hit them right...transforming into honey green...set in that androgynous, pretty face. Nobody looked like him.

Unmistakable, and proof that there was more at work here than any of them understood. Murphy would have never missed it, untampered with.

Almost Bodhi, Bodhi in the real world. And well.

They hadn't realized, without this more robust comparison, just how ill he'd begun to look, and it hit them both, now, like a slap.

"Aw fuck. How fucking sick IS he?! And this shit…Connor, he CAN'T know. If he'd been keeping something like that we'd have read it all over him. And he LOVES Matty, if he knew he had a brother he'd already have him here...."

He went quiet... not so much thinking as on pause, a state Connor remembered well. Murphy on reset. He'd shake himself out of it on point, with all of the extraneous data...and feeling... cleared.

He let him be, flipping open the laptop, squinting a little as the light hit his eyes.  
Christ what he wouldn't give to lose the headache...

He clicked off the documentation Murphy had been studying, taking in the only piece he thought he'd need, and moved out of the realm of the ordinary and into the domain of the boys downstairs.

It didn't take him long.

Sitting back with a sigh, he glanced at Murphy, smiling a little at the frown, nudging him gently.

"Y'know, when you pull your eyebrows down like that you look a little like a demented owl, Murph."

"Oh shut up. What'd you find? I know you did, you look entirely too self-satisfied."

"Not as much as I'd hoped, but enough, I think. Gavin wasn't here long, he left before the twins were born. Well before. Nothing hidden, nothing shady. He was a resident, and then he left. There's nothing that says where he went, though, and it doesn't look like he's been back.  
Logan left right after he did, but he's been back several times."

"He should have stayed gone. Look where coming back got him."

"He's gone again...it might not hurt to flag him..."

"Why him?"

"I'm not sure. Just my gut.  
I have it scanning Bodhi’s phone records...I'm gonna add in Logan’s... for any repeat unknown calls in or out but Bodhi's in touch with SO many people..."

"He's somewhere down south, right on a river. And I have street names. Can you..."

"Yes! Murphy, you did tell me that before didn't you. I can't think past this fuckin head."

"Well hang on a sec."

He slid away from Connor, felt the little flicker of dismay and touched his face, smiling.

"I'm coming right back and I'm not going far. Don't get all lonely."

"Fuck off."

"Yeah..."

He didn't go far...only as far as the fridge...Connor grimacing as his brother pulled out orange juice.

"I hate that shit, it turns to slime as soon as you swallow it."

"I know but it'll help. What would REALLY help is a couple hours’ worth of this shit..."

He hit the port in his arm, making Connor flinch. Murphy didn't seem to find it uncomfortable but just looking at it made Connor’s veins ache.

"Murph, they ran like...six liters of fluid in me, blood too."

"Last night, Conn. What'd they tell you when they let you go, huh? Make sure you eat. Make sure you drink a lot. Have you done either?"

"I had some coffee just now with a pound of sugar in it!"

"You want the headache gone?"

He plonked the glass...dismayingly large to Connor’s eyes...onto the table.

"Shut up and drink your slime. And take these."

Two enormous tablets clittered onto the table, far more appetizing than what was in the glass but faintly nauseating just the same.

"Don't worry, Conn..."

His smile was fairly evil.

"...they'll just slip right down."

"You want me to throw up, keep on with the slime jokes."

"I don't."

He sat back down, humor gone, utterly serious.

"And it's not even for you. I need your help, Connor. I need you to be able to think straight. And what the fuck is that smug face about, you look like you just won a bet."

"Nothing smug, brother."

"Like hell."

"Really."

"Uh huh. Hey...if it was up to you, would you put Piety next to Desire?"

"Uhhh....of course, what better place for it....what the fuck are y'talkin about, Murph?"

"Piety's next to Desire. Gavin thought it was funny. STREET NAMES Connor! Street names!"

"Oh, because you were so clear about that. That all you got?"

"No, just gimme a second. There were dogs barking at me from inside houses. Random strangers called me "baby". It felt so good, the air felt good. I didn't want to leave, Connor. Dauphine. Louisa. Piety. Desire. I think he doubled back though, because he made the block before we got to his house. We went past Desire but it's the last street I remember. I’m not sure how far past. He turned right, went back a couple of blocks and turned right again. I was right there where they are. He said he didn't want me to find them, but...it was like...he knew it had to happen even though he didn't like it. They're two blocks from the river."

"D'y'happen to know what river?"

"No."

"Was it city? Country?"

"Neither. I mean…city, but not city like here. Not...urban. Lots of houses, real tight together, but quiet. Trees. Porches. The sidewalks were real worn out and overgrown and there were these old tiles set in them. The streets, too. Full of holes, real narrow, cars parked on both sides. A bus went past and had to creep by and like...squeeze between cars."

"School bus? Transit bus? Tour..."

"Transit, but I don't know what it said. 5, maybe. It was a neighborhood..."

He trailed off, eyes gone clouded and distant, once more breathing that air.

"Connor, the way it smelled...it was familiar. Like…I recognized it..."

"Well..."

Connor pushed the machine away and sat back with a sigh.

"...that's working on it. All the people, places, everything you gave me. I guess we should go see Bodhi."

"No, not yet."

"No?"

"No. I know he's sick, but he's not about to drop dead anytime soon and even if he were we can't change that. If he's involved in this, nobody's been hurt...all they did was split the boys up, and we have no idea why. Right now...at this moment...everyone’s safe. But we, brother, are useless. I can see how awful you feel and I don't feel any better. This thing...isn't going to be a small thing. Can you feel it?"

"Aye, I can, brother."

"So...right now, I plug in and finish at least one cycle..."

"You didn't finish it? Murphy..."

"Yeah, whatever. I’m about to fix that. I think you should call David and get him up here with a couple lines in for you...pretending to drink orange juice isn’t doing you any good. Then we both eat, we both sleep, and we spend the next few days down. Eat, sleep, rest...and whatever we can with the computer. Tell a few people so they know, shut off the phones, lock the doors and fucking recover. Because...."

"We'll need to be up and running, you're right. CAN you sleep, Murphy? I know this is..."

"I will."

He leaned across the table, touched their foreheads together and grinned. "With a little help."

His grin turned to a gasping moan and a shiver as Connor’s fingertips brushed his nipple, and soft lips met his.

"Help like this, then?"

"Just like that."

That was about as far as they got...given their mutual running on empty condition they were lucky to get that far...and it was with no little sheepish chagrin that Murphy...who'd plugged himself in and crawled into bed with Connor fully ready for joint orgasmic bliss...found himself waking up several hours later... hand still loosely grasping Connor’s completely unconscious nether regions... with no idea he'd even fallen asleep.

"Well, fuck. What a bitch."

He smiled a little, realizing that, even talking to himself he kept his voice quiet, waking Connor not on his radar.

As done in as he'd ever seen him....and he'd been plenty worried, despite his jokes...his twins sleep now was as deep and dreamless as his own had been and he had no desire to disturb it.

There was no question they'd moved into some weird, heavy shit...no question they'd crash, burn...and likely die... if they took it on as bombed out as they were right now. He needed to let Connor sleep until he woke on his own and he knew the only thing he himself should do was get up and eat and then go back to sleep... but his soul itched to get moving. That this time they were taking to heal WAS the beginning of dealing with whatever this was was no real balm to him. Bramblehair and itchweed...the phrase flickered through, making him smile. They'd had a neighbor when they were boys who'd said that about him, comparing them to Jim Nightshade and Will Holloway. Connor a peach high on a tree...patiently observing, Murphy brambles and itches...ready to move and damn the torpedoes.

Pretty spot on, now that he thought about it, though he supposed it made him the bad guy. Dark to Connor’s light.

He wondered, suddenly, if his own twins were like that...and the hunted, feral eyed boy of his dream flickered back into being.

Where had the dreams been, this sleep?

"Too tired to dream, let alone whatever those things really are."

Ah, well, fuck it. Whatever would happen would happen.

But...that place....if it was real, and he could find it...god, it had felt so good there.

His hand had drifted off of Connor, onto himself, absently stroking as his mind rambled, and now...with the scent of that dream air suddenly thick around him, the silky, soft feel settling on his skin like balm...absent became purpose as he hardened under his own touch, free hand moving to pinch a nipple, rolling it, wishing he could bite it...Christ he was hard now and how long had it been since he'd done this that his own hand felt so good, like some long lost friend?

God, it felt good...

Blaring noise startled him out of the moment and he jabbed the button on the feed pump with a curse. Fucking bags were empty and that was fucking fabulous timing.

Still swearing softly he sat up, wincing at the throb between his legs, something niggling just at the edge of his mind as he unhooked the lines, something cross referenced with masturbation..."what the fuck, y'freak, there's nothing..."but....there was something...he swabbed the port with alcohol, drifting...and memory played him back a voice.

Elena, weeks and weeks and weeks ago, showing him how to clean the ports and then, embarrassed beyond all belief, face as red as a stoplight...pulling something from her bag. "Murphy, here. I can't think who else to... I bought this for some y'know...special alone time, but it's not made for me, it's made for guys. Never even opened it. You and Connor go have some fun."  
Fleeing the room, freaked to the maxx at having handed him a sex toy...

What had he done with it?

Thrown it in a drawer or a closet without ever really even looking at it.

And damn it he was soft, mind fully involved now in finding the stupid thing.

"McManus you're a moron."

No help for it...in seconds he was out of bed and rummaging around, nothing but a blank as to where he'd put it. Treasure hunt for a....thing.

Well...he'd wanted something to occupy his mind and here he was, digging around like a terrier for something he'd squirrelled away god knew how long ago.

He found it, some minutes later, and with no small glee, stashed in the back of a kitchen drawer, realized he lacked the degree in engineering required to get it out of the package, and sawed into it with a steak knife, mildly alarmed at his own ferocity, sharply aware that his arousal was beginning to stir again.

Special alone time, huh? He could get down with that.

Out of the package he still didn't know what the fuck it was...though he was pretty sure he knew where it went...but it needed batteries. Those, at least, he could locate, though putting them in was as complicated as opening the package, and this he couldn't just cut up.

Swearing, actually frustrated...arousal no longer fluttering around his edges, his dick was ragingly, achingly hard...he winced as his teeth bit through his bottom lip...hummed a little at the taste of his own blood in his mouth...and wrestled the thing apart.

"Christ, if you want to get off with technology you really gotta work for it."

The fucking thing had a remote. 

"What the fuck would you need a remote for?"

More batteries.

Of course.

He snapped them in, pressed the power button and grinned....almost silent, there was no chance it'd wake his brother.

Feeling a little obsessive, a little compulsive, seriously weird and far too turned on, he padded back into the bedroom, slipped into bed, and with a wary glance at Connor....still out, thank God, he didn't even want to think about the teasing if his brother woke up and caught him...he reached under the bed, pulled out the Vaseline they almost never bothered with, greased it up and slid it in.

Nothing to write home about, but it didn't suck. Hmm.

Sneaking another look at Connor, he thumbed the on button...and felt his mind vanish as sensation hit and galvanized his entire body.

For a second it felt like nothing...and then his whole system seized up, shudders taking him as every nerve fired at once, breath coming in little gasps, too overwhelmed for a moment to know what to do, reaching for his throbbing, aching dick...failing to touch it at all as another wave hit…arms flung out, back arching off the bed...out of control and not caring a bit.

And this thing was still on the lowest setting?

"Fuck..."

He hit the button again and a low pulse thrummed through him, forcing a gasp and a groan, reducing him to nothing so much as a shuddering, moaning, writhing mass of nerve endings, Connor forgotten as his hands found their way between his legs...finally...

"Oh my fucking GOD!"

He couldn't stand it, it felt too good...he gave in completely, no care to stay quiet, or hold still, moaning and thrashing and swearing and not even close yet...

And then the world exploded into white fire as the sensation inside him blazed into overdrive...a humming, buzzing, thrusting pulse of immense magnitude that sent him bucking off the bed as teeth closed on his nipple and hands other than his own simultaneously tangled in his hair and PULLED, grasped his dick, stroking hard...hard...

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Words left him, incoherent cries and moans ripped from him and there it was, a huge wave rushing at him...he was about to come and a little afraid...so intense he started to fight it, felt it stabbing at him...

And then Connor’s voice, thick with desire "let it happen, brother" took him over the edge, wild, shaking, screaming as the wave broke and he came and came and came...harder than he could stand, had ever thought possible, aftershocks that went on and on, wringing twitching gasps from him that finally became whispers; "no more. God! No more."

He felt the thrumming in his core cease, the hand leave his dick, felt himself...sweat soaked, wrung out and trembling, still beyond speech, beyond thought, the world still a white blaze...and then Connor was kissing him...hard...biting at his lips...and he bit back, laughing, feeling his body and mind returning to something like human, blinked into Connor’s eyes staring into his, blown with lust but amused.

"Murphy, brother, you don't do anything half way, do you? This your idea of a break?"

He held up the little remote, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Conn, don't! If you turn that back on I don't think I'll make it. Don't! At least now I know why a remote. Jesus."

"But look how relaxed you are..."

"I may never move again."

He felt the thing...he still didn't even know what it was...slipped from inside him, making him shake a little, and saw Connor dangling the little remote in front of his face.

"Well, brother...can y'move just enough to push this wee button right here?"

"I think so."

He smiled as Connor kissed him again, hard and biting and too turned on to stand himself, slid the remote from his brother's hand to his and stilled him, tugging on his hair and whispering in his ear.

"Your turn."


	87. Chapter 87

They lost track...days, nights, time...meaningless to them in a sticky, sodden, sleepy healing blur, and the world fell away.

They slept…deep, heavy, dreamless...tangled together and breathing each other...almost the entire time, waking only to eat, to drink, to fuck...with no battery operated assist, both of them preferring each other to the humming intensity of some alien object...everything about them, every moment, every breath alive and organic.

They didn't think...dual switches thrown in their brains, every analytical spark dampened, everything dialed down...dormant, every moment pure sensation, pure emotion, complete connection.

If they'd remembered it, subjectively, later they'd have remembered mainly bliss...waking comfortable and warm, no aches, no sickness...just the feel of each other, themselves, their borders indistinct, melded together, as simple and innocent as their linked fingers, as breathtaking and erotic as a mouth around a nipple, stroking hands and gathering heat.

When they went they went slow, as much for the touch as the release, holding each other back for hours that held no meaning...only themselves, each other, connected and connecting...Murphy, stretched out, entangled, lips swollen and beautifully sore as he looked down at his brother, loving him too much to stand it, kissing him long, and sweet, and endless, slipping inside, moving just as long, just as sweet, no hurry, no rush, sucking at his nipples just to have him in his mouth, tongue flicking over, loving the feel...biting, tasting, Connor’s soft moans and little halting breaths his own, always riding that ever cresting wave of pleasure, consumed by it, taken....always a little surprised when he came, when he brought Connor, when Connor brought him, sliding in from behind, arms strong and tight across his chest, sucking, biting at the back of his neck, fingers sliding across nipples until he groaned, helpless, coming hard, coming again...drifting into sleep, waking into hunger, leaving the bed only together, eating together, drinking together, always touching, some vital imperative ...one beautiful shivering day filling the tub and climbing in, looking at each other and SEEING, perhaps for the first time, what the years had done to them...old scars and new...those of injury and of age, bones broken, badly healed, creating new landscapes explored with hands that shook, fingertips tracing every inch, finding every wound, every change, reading the changes each scar etched on the soul that held it....and the soul that beheld...seeing each other not as they once were, but as these new...old...worn beings.

Mortal. Human. Real. Unbearably beautiful to each other.

Connor woke that night to Murphy’s tears...stretched out next to and utterly tangled as always, this night there were no soft lips, no questing fingers, no sweet, humming tension...no magical being taking him...taking him...no....this night there was only his brother, limp in his arms, strengthless, boneless, face pressed to his, helpless heartbroken sobs torn from him, shaking so hard his teeth chattered, tears trickling down Connor’s face, down his neck...and Connor understood in a blinding, binding empathy, knew what Murphy knew...he was far, far more than halfway there and never had the specter of failure loomed so large.

The endless time of youth...for Murphy, though not for Connor, agonizing in and of itself... was long gone, his point of departure, though not imminent…not yet even in sight...hidden behind frighteningly few turns in the road ahead and having the time to do what he needed to do was by no means a given. More painful, the realization of what he HAD...crashing in on him with the sight of himself through his brothers eyes, the sorrow of his brothers thoughts...friends he'd have no more time with, children he would bring together...and he WOULD bring them together...he would never see BECOME...and Connor, left behind.

It suddenly seemed so very very close. So soon.

Connor’s thoughts, transferred to and merged with Murphy’s...this aching loneliness, grief to his core, realization...on sight...that Murphy had been right…he was surely...not now, not today...but gut wrenchingly, heartbreakingly soon...losing his brother.

And Murphy’s shaking, soul broken tears...for both of them. Dual grief, uncontrolled and uncontrollable.

"Oh, Murphy..."

Just a whisper, his voice was still enough to tighten his brothers arms around him, to dispel a little of that frightening limpness.

"Oh Murphy, honey, don't..."

Even tighter, those arms, and he felt some of the helplessly taken feel leave his brother, heard his voice...tear choked yes but angry...so angry.

"You came all this way with me for me to leave you behind! It's not what was supposed to BE for you."

He pulled away, sat up, furiously swiping at his eyes...unable to force this down...unable to end it until it was done and mad as hell about it.

"Connor, this isn't even your life. Your life was supposed to be GOOD. Not...this. Just to end up alone...I'm just bailing out on everyone and it's disgusting, Connor. I'M...."

"Don't you dare say it! Murphy don't you even DARE. You listen to me!"

He pulled him back in, back into contact, the space between them intolerable to him, and felt the blur in their boundaries he'd begun to consider normal, felt Murphy’s arms go back around him, felt his head drop onto his shoulder and reached up, fingers catching in hair...and they became one again.

"Murphy, you're not bailing on anyone. You don't..."

He felt his own tears start, pushed them back, forced his voice out.

"You don't get a say, and it's wrong, and God help us both I don't want you to go and I have no idea how I'll even stay alive without you..."

"You will. For a long time, too."

"I know. I know! I don't want to...but I will because I don't get a say either. But brother..."

He held him tight, his own shakes setting in, felt himself hugged back hard.

"You are NOT bailing. On anyone. I know you'll be here as long as you can, and longer than you're supposed to…"

"Probably..."

"And Murph..."

He moved him away a little, enough to look into his eyes.

"This IS my life and believe me Murphy...it's good. I'd never trade it. If I picked it over what I COULD have had, knowing me wouldn't you guess it was because I wanted to?"

"You don't even believe me, you just think I'm crazy."

"No, I know you're crazy. And I do believe you. I just don't remember."

"I know you don't."

His head fell back onto Connor’s shoulder, and he let himself be pulled down, stretched out, entangled.

"Conn, I'm so fucking old."

"So'm I."

"You have more time."

"Murphy...God I love you. You still have time."

"I know."

They merged together, this time of tears just another release, as necessary as breathing...drifted through tears into sleep, slept hard, half woke, made love...slow and sleepy and never fully awake...slept again....and time...cheating bastard that it was, reasserted itself while they slept, their respite approaching an end though they weren't out of it quite yet, flung together from sleep into hard edge, brutal passion...one more release, all aggression, all force, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, teeth bringing blood, nothing slow or tender or sweet, not now...they went and went hard, hard and long, driving into each other by turns, gouging nails and biting teeth, heads pulled back by hair pulled until it tore ...coming hard almost in self-defense even as teeth sank into lips too bruised and bloody to kiss and Christ it was so good...

They rode the high, let it fade, didn't drift so much as drop into sleep, and this sleep held dreams, though none of any great import.

They knew it was over, that reality had returned, when they failed to wake together.

Hunger woke Murphy, hunger as he hadn't felt in years...real and intense and unforgiving.

Breakfast woke Connor, more particularly bacon and coffee.

He smiled a little, remembering how normal this had once been...Murphy diving out of bed, ready to chew off an arm, Connor waking to bacon and coffee, the only two things Murph could be counted on not to set fire to. On very lucky mornings he got toast in without mishap.

Well, maybe today was a toast day.

He climbed out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, took in the coffee pot...full, the bacon...done, the laptop...open and beeping up a storm on the counter, and yes there was toast.

Good deal.

"Mornin Murph, you want eggs?"

"Yes! They're already out. I almost tried it myself you slept so long."

"Perish the thought."

Their eyes met for a second, none of the night forgotten, and resolve the color of iron settled into both of them.

Whatever was to come...

"You ready to do this, Murph?"

"Eggs first."

"By all means."

....it had begun.


	88. Chapter 88

"Bodhi."

The voice drifted in, far off, unimportant, drifted out again.

This encompassing void of sensation was all that mattered.

"Bodhi!"

A little louder, a little more intrusive, sensation creeping in.

"Bodhi, wake up!"

And ah, fuck, here he was...exhaustion and broken glass...the current touchstones of his existence....sinking into his bones, his veins....Christ but waking up had become disagreeable.

"M'up Matty, what's'matter?"

"You're NOT up..."

He broke off, interrupted by the ratcheting cough that had plagued him on and off all week, bringing Bodhi abruptly closer to full alert.

"This again, Matty..."

It didn't sound too bad, not right now, but the kid had coughed himself sick a couple of times and it worried him...not that it bothered Matt much at all, he seemed largely unaware of it most of the time and brushed it off now.

"Connor and Murphy are comin over, get up."

"Yeah, they are?"

He hauled himself up, the global ache cranking up another notch, exhaustion thudding in on air that suddenly seemed noxious and heavy.

"They call or did you get a bat signal."

He expected a giggle...Matty never ceasing to find Bodhi’s arch attitude toward his connection with the twins as hilarious as only a first grader could...didn't get one, and looked up into eyes clouded with concern.

"Bodhi, you look AWFUL."

Yeah well, he felt awful.

"I do, huh? Well shit. Go make me some coffee?"

"Is that gonna help?"

"It's not gonna hurt."

He took in the dubious look, saw the tension building in those little shoulders and made a monumental effort to pull his shit together, shaking off the lassitude as he climbed out of bed, forcing himself not to wince.

"Matty, I'm ok. Quit with the mom face. I was just up way too late last night, I'm TIRED."

That much was true, at least, and coffee WOULD help.

"Go! Get brewin'"

Still no giggle, no relaxation in that stance, but the kid headed to the kitchen, only throwing one doubtful glance over his shoulder as he went.

Listening for any telltale clatter and crash signaling the kid having tied himself up in worry knots, he rubbed at eyes that felt mired in grit and started for the shower, cursing as the ends of his bones screamed in protest and the air around him turned thick, sticky, hot....

Impatient with it...he didn’t have time for his body turned traitor...he spun the water on and reached into the medicine cabinet...it'd take an age for the water to get hot...he really had to update that system before the buildings tenants hung him out to dry...and saw with some satisfaction that there was only one tablet left in each bottle.

Well, hurray for day five...

One more dose and he'd have a month to begin feeling human again...for the aches and exhaustion to leave him. To look at food and not be repulsed.

With any luck he wouldn't have to start all over again just when he started to feel normal...and there it was... that anxious little jab again...coming to him with ever increasing frequency…reminding him that this was cycle three with no change except for the worse...that he'd always before been fine after one.

Fear hadn't taken root...not yet, but it had begun to dig in and get comfortable.

Gazing at the tablets in his palm...their evil magic seemingly null and void...Bodhi suddenly found himself thinking of Gavin, odd but not infrequent of late...this bullshit had always cleared faster when he was around but wasn't that a damn shame... and wishing for Murphy....seized by the thought that Murphy had the answers, the solutions, to the pain that plagued them all...that he offered the only relief...

Gavin and Murphy.

This wasn't the first time the two of them had appeared simultaneously in his mind, and it didn't occur to him to wonder why.

Gavin his nemesis, Murphy his comfort.

"You're being an idiot."

He shook it off and swallowed the pills, throwing a couple of painkillers into the mix, and resigning himself to a couple of hours of intensified misery....with one pill making him ache...sometimes to tears.. the other making him unbelievably sick to his stomach, mornings were a thrill a minute... even more delightful a prospect with the twins added to the mix, though here, again, that strange craving for Murphy...

But the water was hot, finally, and he stepped in, thoughts floating back to Matty, Murphy...and the bizarre and cryptic remark Terry had flung at him a week ago....showing up pale, bloodied and angry at his door, just long enough to thump him...hard…in the chest and hiss that that he'd better rethink any secrets he might be keeping, and pray Murphy didn't find out if there were.

Bodhi had no secrets, but the remark...bearing no further information as Terry had left without another word and had isolated himself completely since...had rattled him enough that he'd been guiltily relieved to get Connor’s text that night that the two of them were laid up until further notice.

God knew, he didn't want them sick, but...

And there was Matthew, pounding on the door.

"What! Fuck...ow...fuck!"

Now he had an eyefull of soap. Fantastic.

"What are you doing?"

"Day trading on the internet! I'm in the shower, whaddaya think I'm doing?"

"Are you sure?"

"Am I...Matthew! Of course I'm sure."

Ah, but he knew what this was.

He twisted off the water, stepped out, grabbed a towel..."Matty c'mon in and see if you need to."

He didn't really think he would, eyes going up in surprise when the door opened and Matt's worried face peeked around the edge, relief washing over it at the sight of him.

"Matty. You thought I was sick, huh? I wouldn't lie, why would you think I would?"

"You always run the water and you always say you're fine."

"Yeah well...it's kinda rough to hit multi-syllable words and puke at the same time. It's gonna either be "fine" or "fuck". "

He glanced at Matt and sighed.

Not a hint of relaxation, the kid was pinched as hell.

"And it's nothin to worry about anyways, it’s just that medicine I had to take. Today's the last day so you can relax. After I throw up on the twins later it should be done. Did you make coffee?"

Only the barest hint of a smile, but it was something.

"When I take medicine I get BETTER. Yes there's coffee. Are you in trouble with Murphy?"

"Probably. Can you move so I can get pants?"

"Well how come?"

"Cuz I don't wanna entertain company naked."

Finally, the little laugh he'd been trying to provoke.

"No, what'd you do to get in trouble?"

"Nothing that I know of but I don't doubt he found something...he's Murphy. And before you get all up in yourself stickin up for him, I LOVE Murphy. But he's the nosiest human being who ever lived and he always finds something to drive him crazy."

"He can't help it."

"Well I know, that's why I still love him. Why'd you ask? He say something?"

"N'uh. Bat signal."

"Go on, Matty, lemme get dressed."

"Can I get cereal?"

"Well yeah, course, why you askin?"

"You want some?"

"God no."

"You gotta EAT Bodhi."

"Not right now. And especially not captain stupid weird sugared breakfast crunchies or whatever that revolting shit you eat is. Go, Matty."

He watched him go, catching the reproach on his face as he went, too tired to care much about it. About much of anything, really.

What he really wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep through the nausea already licking at his throat, quell the ground glass grinding in his bones with real painkillers and ride that wave until it peaked, crested, drew back...

To call Donovan, as he'd done every day this week, have him hang with Matthew, and just check out...

Sighing, knowing it wasn't to be, he ignored the shivering that had set in...as miserable as everything else but this too would pass...pulled on jeans and followed Matty toward the kitchen, coffee the only hope for redemption he could think of.

Just outside the bedroom door he stopped, abruptly, sickly afraid.

Something was about to happen...was already happening... and he tried to call out, failed, felt his mind clog, stutter, stall.

The air filled with the scent of jasmine, as cloying, thick and heavy as Mississippi mud, and a wave of bitter nostalgia broke over him, visions of fireworks on the river, now green, now blue, carrying the punky smell of gunpowder and water here in the space above his doorway.

He watched them dance, sparkling golden in the air just above his head, fascinated...heard the sharp crack snap of a detonator and felt the impact in his head as the sparks grew bright, filled the world, consumed it.

His last cogent thought, before the floor rushed up to meet him and consciousness fled, was just how fucked it was that he wasn't going to get his coffee.


	89. Chapter 89

He lay on Bodhi’s couch, the relaxed sprawl a lie, awake...listening to the ticks and groans of someone else’s space... waiting...for the sound of the door, the nudge of his twin in his head, some kind of news from anywhere....letting the warmth of his son, asleep across his chest, sink in and sooth, comforted by the steady, sleeping rise and fall of his breathing, the clean soap scent of his hair.

He smiled a little, wondering if this was just the way it was supposed to be or if it was some unique weirdness of their connected chemistry.

Trembling, tied in terror stricken knots, Matty had clambered into Murphy’s lap, clinging and desperate and well beyond words or tears...that he sought out such intimate contact spoke volumes of his fear...the image of Bodhi, his and loved and so very dear...unresponsive and bloody, whisked away into the arms of modern medicine crystal clear in the front of his mind...had buried his face in Murphy’s neck and hung on...finding some solace, obviously, since here he was asleep, but it was Murphy, now, who felt comforted.

His arms, loose around his son in deference to his peculiarity of touch, drew in tighter, now that he slept, pulled him closer, and his eyes closed against the silken hair brushing his cheek.

So familiar, so like Connor...and, he supposed, himself...though that felt inherently strange...his child.

His son.

He felt it rise in him, burning and fierce, a love that defied all description...love and a killing protectiveness...and he knew there was nothing in the world he would not do for this child.

And there was another one...

In that moment it became far more than the balance in some cosmic equation, more than the just correction of a monstrous deception, more than the need to win against yet another filthy trick...in that moment the extraneous fell away and it became only the need to find his child and bring him home.

It became personal.

Lulled by the rhythm of his sons breathing, the insistent, quick beat of his heart, by his warmth...his eyes drifted shut and consciousness fell away.

As sleep took him, he drifted from cool, dry, predigested conditioned air and into the heavy, warm scents of jasmine and lime blossoms and the cool, somehow homely mudwater smell off the river.

His eyes opened into night, moonlight soft yet almost bright enough to read by, the sky silver light and painted.

If such a place could only be real...

He shook away the thought...with its underlying longing for this street of dreams...and let his eyes drop to the street, the house...dark now and somehow derelict looking in a murky gloom that tasted like fear.

Nightmare dim, seeming to crouch there...accusing.

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone, y'know."

He hadn't meant to speak and started at the sound of his own voice...and who was he talking to, anyway? His own guilt?

It made him uneasy, uncomfortably crawly in his own skin. Was he really planning to steal a child from his home?

"Are you him?"

The voice... small and thick and disturbingly breathless, rising from somewhere impossibly far below him...startled him from his contemplation of conscience visualized, drew his gaze downward.

Not Matthew.

"Are you him?!"

There was panic in that drowning voice, and he found himself kneeling, eye to eye, wonder eclipsing words.

Almost Matthew. Taller, thicker, bigger in a way that seemed indefinably wrong...unhealthy.

"Cody."

He reached out, expected the boy to flinch away, surprised when his grasp sank somehow too deeply into the flesh of those small arms....flesh that felt waterlogged, spongey...decayed.

"You're Cody."

"Are you him?"

The alarmed tone didn’t match the eyes, far away and filmed over, silver blank and distant. Speaking but barely there just the same. Tethered somewhere far from here.

"Please tell me. I don't wanna die."

Ignoring the chills travelling his spine, Murphy turned the boy’s face toward his own, watched those unsettling eyes fix on his own and held them.

"Am I who?"

"The other kid’s dad. The kid who's the other me."

"Yes. But he's..."

"Tell me your name."

Urgent, now. Insistent.

“If you're real tell me your name."

"Murphy."

"Murphy."

Hands reached for his face, touched his cheeks, and he felt water beading from fingertips, running down his neck.

"Don't let me die."

"You're not...."

"He'll let me die! I already know!"

"Who?"

"Gavin! He'll let me die. He thinks it's a m..."

He stopped, struggling with the unfamiliar word, and had there been any residual doubt in Murphy’s mind that this child was his son it would have dissolved at the ease with which the stalled word slid into his mind...bringing with it dark horror.

"A mercy?! He thinks it would be a mercy?"

"Better off dead, that's what he..."

"No. Never that, and I won't let that happen."

"He won't let you take me. I don't know why he hates me now! He didn't used to!"

Murphy, unthinking and no longer aware of anything but the little soul in front of him, pulled him in...flooded, at first, with that fierce protective love as the little boy hugged him and held on...felt it fade into revolted fear as the boys substance became less solid...gelid, faintly rotten, sinking into him in a sickening merge, more of that water, swampy and smelling of blood trickling down his sides.

He felt the mental slap before he could react.

"Don't you dare push him away, brother."

Connor, bless him, clicking into comfortable residence in his brain, staving off nightmare irrationality...whatever this was this little boy existed somewhere, and his mind was right here and now. Whatever happened next he’d remember.

Murphy’s arms tightened around his son... ignoring the strange, sodden GIVE...and held on, words spilling in rhythmic lyrical cadence, beyond thought.

"He doesn't hate you. He hates me. He loves you. He doesn't want you to die. He won't let you die. I won't let you die."

"Take me with you."

Ah, but there it was, impossible for reasons myriad and complicated…not the least of which was that none of this was happening.

"Cody..."

"Am I dreaming? Murphy, am I dreaming?"

"We both are."

"You're not real?"

"I'm real. I'm just not really...here...right now. But I will be."

"Am I here?"

"I don't think so."

But he was somewhere, and in the sharp, bright tone from the waking world, the green gold lightning flash of that dream sky, Connor’s grieving knowledge flowed in and he knew...everything.

"I know where..."

But he was alone, those bizarrely liquid arms gone from around him, fading with the scents and sounds of his dreamscape, creeping away as clear thought arrowed in.

Awake. Awake and cold, shivering in the chilled, sterile air, pulling Matthew closer but feeling no added warmth.

He heard the snick of the lock and twisted to look as Connor let himself in, stepping aside for Bodhi...still dizzy and feeling the day but on his feet, on his own, in no way displaying the death sentence he'd just been given.

For the merest split second the idea that it had been a mistake crossed Murphy’s mind, eradicated almost before it completed by the grim little shake of Connor’s head, the unalterable facts in his brain, and he felt himself tangle and stick, mired...sinking.

Sighing, he moved his feet so Bodhi could sit, pushed himself upright, smiling a little as Matthew...still two thirds asleep...climbed into Bodhi’s arms, as settled and familiar as breathing, unconscious again in seconds.

"You want me to put him to bed?"

Bodhi’s smile...sad and sweet as he shook his head and held on... broke his heart a little.

"He's fine, he's perfect. Murphy..."

He shifted Matty to a more comfortable spot and leaned back, sighing a little in relief.

"Please stop looking at me like that. You're kinda making my guts crawl."

"Looking at you like what?"

He pulled out his cigarettes, passed one to Bodhi and lit it for him.

"Y'know...Elena bitched me out yesterday for smoking around him. Until today I thought I had a decent argument. Isn't like second hand smoke's likely to hurt him when we live through bullets and poison and...."

His words cut off clean at the sudden swelling ache of tears in his throat.

"Bodhi..."

"Don't, Murphy. We all have to go sometime. I'm not gonna die today."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Nothing to tell. It's always gone away. Don't ask me anymore, ok? I'm tired....tomorrow's soon enough. Or you could just pick it out of Connor’s brain..."

"I don't have to, I already know what he knows."

"Oh. Linked up, huh?" The scorn in his tone was palpable.  
"And the two of you were doing so well with your independence."

"Bodhi..."

"Don't! Murphy...I know this hurts you, I know you love me, and it's not you I'm mad at but it's you I'm gonna take it out on if you don't let it be. Just...Iet me be. Connor, if you don't stop standing over there with that fucking face on and sit down I swear to God...oh!"

He broke off, half laughing, Matthew’s face suddenly inches from his own, reproach stamped all over it.

"Matty, honey I'm sorry."

"Why are you yelling?"

"I didn't mean to. Could you back up? You're becoming one giant eye. Hey...Connor? Go in that cabinet by the glasses, there's a scrip bottle with Matty’s name on it. Can you bring it?"

Matthew, unimpressed, couldn't have sounded any more disgusted.

"I don’t need medicine, Bodhi, I'M not sick."

"No...but you're getting a little knotted up, there, tough guy. Can you look this way? Turn your head this way? Uh huh, no, see? Look at your fingers. You're so worried about me you didn't even notice, did you. Two of em, Connor, ok?"

"I hate that stuff, though. It makes me jello..."

Unspoken, Bodhi knew, was the real complaint. It put him out.

"Matty."

Deadly serious, he pinned Matthews’s eyes with his.

"I know how worried you are... and I'm not going to insult you by telling you there's nothing to worry about...but I promise you...if it knocks you out I will still be here when it wears off and you wake up. I promise you. Right here. Now please, honey, take those from Connor. It's really gonna hurt if you don't."

"Not that you have a choice, however he makes it sound."

Murphy's tone, uncharacteristically harsh, didn't invite argument and the two little tablets went down...without argument...in a scathing glare of reproach, his reply utterly disgusted.

"You don't hafta be so mean about it, Murphy."

"No, you're right. Did you swallow those? Cuz cheekin 'em and spitting 'em out when we're not looking isn't gonna go over well."

Matthews sigh was both pained and aggravated as he climbed off Bodhi’s lap and headed toward his bedroom.

"Yes Murphy. I swallowed them."

"You'd better have. That shit doesn't just hurt, it's..."

"Yeah Murphy. I know. It's dangerous. But you're not even gonna be here. OR him."

His last two words...not quite cut off by the slam of his door...brought bright, thin anger into Murphy’s eyes, and only Bodhi’s hand on his kept him seated.

"Let him be. He's pissed off, he should be. He's finally got a family and they're all threatening to drop dead on him."

"Yeah, well...."

He trailed off...momentarily tangled, sifting sticky threads of fear, suspicion, sadness...love...lost, briefly, in a cloud of doubt and a blistering self-loathing for what he was about to do.

He felt Connor lock in, knew there was no room for doubt, and turned his gaze to Bodhi...pale and tired and almost certainly dying.

He hated himself, in that moment...when his soul cried out for him to stop, to back off...to just be this boy’s friend. Sit with him, hug him, put him to bed and take care of him...anything but question him, grill him, give him any more pain...

"Connor..."

"It can't wait, brother."

He knew. It was what it was, and at least Bodhi, who'd seen this before too many times to mistake it, watching them both, now, with those patient, weary eyes, seemed to understand.

"Whatever you were coming to see me about...it can't wait?"

"It can't, brother."

This from Connor, effortlessly slipping the burden from Murphy.

"Although what we need to know has changed."

He watched Bodhi settle back and reach for Murphy, saw their fingers tangle together. Brothers...as much as if they'd been born to it. Could this boy really be part of this? Where...exactly…did this new deception lie? It hurt to think about, and now that the moment had come, he didn't know where...or how...to begin.

Bodhi, too miserable to go much longer, felt his patience fraying.

"Connor, I'm too tired to wait for you to fight yourself. Whatever it is...just say it."

He saw their eyes meet...connect...go distant...and found himself hating both of them a little.

"Are you really gonna do this to me now? Do you have any idea..."

Connor cut him off...razor sharp and immediate.

"We came to ask you about Gavin. If you knew where he was...but we know that, now. We..."

"Gavin."

His voice was curious, bemused...

"Where in the world did the two of you ever hear about Gavin?"

"He has my son."

Murphy’s voice dripped ice, and his hand tightened on Bodhi’s ...painfully so...and he tugged at it, tried to free himself, failed.

"Murphy let go! However you heard of him, your son is right in the next room! Let GO!"

"No. Not yet. I need to know what you know."

"What I know about WHAT?"

Small bones ground in his hand and he felt tears...of both pain and outrage...stinging his eyes.

"You're breaking my fingers Murphy, for god sake let go! You don't have to hurt me, you KNOW that! Murphy!"

He reached across, brushing his free hand across Murphy’s cheek, pushing stray hair from his eyes, real fear rising in him at their blankness.

"Whatever it is, I'll do anything I can to help you figure it out, I always will, you don't have to force me, you'll never have to force me. Just tell me..."

The pressure on his hand released, too suddenly, and white pain flared, momentarily stealing his breath.

"God..."

He flexed his fingers, found them whole, and looked up into their eyes, felt himself being read.

"Would the two of you stop examining my goddamn soul? If you don't know me well enough by now..."

"Bodhi..."

Some warmth had crept back into Connor’s tone, some humanity back into his eyes.

"This isn't.....Bodhi did you know Matty's a twin?"

"A...no. No, he's not."

"He is, though."

There was clear menace in Murphy’s voice, Connor’s apparent stand down influencing him not at all.

"He is. So are you. You never told us you're a twin."

"Because it's none of your..."

"And you never told us Matty is a twin, or that your brother has him....but look at that, each one of you had one of my children. Each of you..."

He broke off abruptly, fell silent, eyes drifting away. Lost.

"He's NOT a twin! Wherever you got that from, it's wrong."

Connor shook his head, already pulling files on his phone.

"It's not wrong. Look. We found out all we could before we came to you. We were coming to ask you where your brother is..."

"I have no idea where he is, Connor, this is crazy. He..."

"But we found him. He's in New Orleans. And he has a little boy with him. Murphy’s little boy. Matthews twin."

"Connor, I was here when he was born, he's NOT a twin."

He glanced at Murphy, took in his blankness, his silence.

"Is he ok?"

"He's....busy. Just let him be. And he didn't mean to hurt you..."

"I know. But Connor....however all this looks...I'd know if there had been twins, you....oh my god."

Indignant disbelief washed over his face.

"You think all this is true and that I DID know and hid it from you! How can you...."

His expression darkened, indignation giving way to confusion and sudden black speculation.

"Connor, let me see that."

"You know something."

"No...maybe. I don’t know. Just let me see. And snap him out of it, he's scary as shit like that."

He looked at the phone briefly, shook his head and dug at his eyes.

"I can’t even see that. Connor...is...did you...is there...god my head hurts. Did you find anything about a baby that died?"

"Yes."

"I never thought there was one. Maura...she first told me she was carrying twins. She told me their names. Matthew and..."

"Cody."

"Jesus Christ. Yes. But he never existed, Conn! She only had one baby. She told me before he was even born that one baby had died. She called it...something. I don't remember. But she made it up, Connor. There were never twins. Just Matty."

"She didn't make it up. And the other baby didn't die. She..."

"She hid him."

"Murphy...are you ok?"

He ignored the question, speaking from some distant place in his mind.

"She hid him. She told you...that Matty was the surviving twin. She told your brother that Cody was the twin who lived."

"No. Murphy...no. There were never twins. And Gavin was long gone when Matty was born. He's never even seen him...he wasn't even here. Whatever information you have...it's wrong."

"It's not wrong. Your brother has Matty’s twin. My son. Ask him."

"I don't even know where he is, Murphy. I don't....we don't speak."

"We just told you where he is. He has my son...and he's sick. Not your brother. Cody. Somethings wrong with him."

"Why do you think this, Murphy?"

"How fucking funny is this! Three sets of twins. Me and Conn...and he's keeping me alive. You and Gavin...and you're sick, maybe...maybe..."

"Dying, Murphy, don't be afraid to say it..."

"And my twins and one of them may die. And look how everyone's split up. The dying twin has the healthy twin. The healthy twin has the dying twin. And Connor’s always been stuck with me."

He laughed...bitter and not quite sane, eyes still far off and blind.

"Your brother could save you."

"He can't..."

"And if my boys are together, both of them might live."

"Murphy..."

"What. Stop being crazy? Stop talking like a madman? You don't know anything about this, and thank fucking GOD, and I'm so sorry I hurt you..."

"It's..."

"But it’s all real, Bodhi. As real as the fact that we're the reason you're sick...as real as..."

"No you're not! Murphy, please stop, you're...."

"You got sick...it's something in your blood. Not quite chronic leukemia, not quite anything else...but close to a whole lot of things. It started when you were 12. Right about the time you finally healed up from that bullet you took for us...the one that was supposed to kill you...and would have killed you if you hadn't had your twin to pull from. The one that's been killing you ever since. Faster since your brother's been gone. Blame that on us. That bullet was meant for us. That's why he left. Why he hates this place. Why he hates us. We almost killed him, too. Keeping you alive almost killed him."

"Murphy, stop!"

Connor shook him a little, tried to see past the glaze over his eyes.

"Look at what you're doing!"

Murphy’s glance at Bodhi, as pale as paper, horror stricken and trembling, was utterly dispassionate.

"She didn't want another set of twins. She saw...and it drove her insane. She hid one of them, and sent him to your brother. Your other brother brought him...Logan. They told him he had the surviving twin. She told you it was Matty. But it doesn't do any good...hiding? It doesn't work and now Cody’s dying of what nearly killed him when he was born. It didn't because of Matty...but they're too little. They've been apart too long and he'll die if they stay apart much longer. And of course...so will you."

He held that cold gaze a moment longer...and then...as quickly as it had come, the fog lifted and his eyes cleared.

"There's no reason anybody has to die...well...me, maybe...but not Cody. Not you. And if you want to call your brother, he'll tell you everything."

"Murphy..."

"He told me...he'll tell you. But he won't bring my son to me. He'd rather let him die. He loves him...as much as you love Matty...but he's perfectly willing to kill him outright before he'll let him come near this place. It'd be a kindness, he says. Go get Matty up."

"What? Murphy…Connor for god sake, look up from the phone, do you even hear this?"

"Bodhi. People are dying. Needlessly. Conn..."

"Already done."

"What...what'd you do? What're the two of you..."

"He booked a flight. Your twin won’t come to us. We're going to him and we're going now."


	90. Chapter 90

The atmosphere seemed charged with a freakish, staticky foreboding that appeared to spread, infecting the whole cabin, little by little.

Connor, only able to work up a vague concern that they'd be recognized.... unlikely given their complete lack of resemblance to the infamous saints of Boston...and fighting a pervading, creeping numbness, thought that it was perhaps the quietest plane he'd ever experienced.

He'd heard the typical buzzing hum of multiple conversations as they'd boarded...heard them begin to fade as eyes settled on them...

He supposed it made sense. They did, after all, look pretty grim.

Murphy still spacey eyed and distant, barely there.

Bodhi...furious that he was being forced into this...and forced was indeed the only word, as Connor had first reasoned, then pled, threatened and finally shoved him bodily into the car with a whispered word of warning that erased all further thoughts of argument from his mind...and exhausted, translucently pale, circles like black bruises beneath his eyes.

Matthew dazed and half-conscious under the benzodiazepine pop, limp in Murphy’s arms.

In all honesty, he was surprised they'd been allowed on the plane, and was more than a little disappointed they had.

Going off halfcocked in the middle of the night with no real idea what they were doing…it may have been their modus operandi when they'd started out, but the years had honed their caution...and their skill...and they'd have no more run into fire on a whim than...well...it didn't much matter. It was exactly what they were doing.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing the plane would just take off. An honest stranger to mass transit, the time spent just waiting surprised him and worked his nerves. That he was essentially on his own wasn't helping, though he could hear Murphy’s voice, soft, behind him.

Talking to Bodhi...good. Murphy’s distance, Bodhi’s lassitude....both had worried him, and he relaxed a little at the sound of their voices though the content, what he could make out…Bodhi explaining the infection in his brain... caused by the medications meant to fix whatever was wrong in his blood...untreatable and most often lethal...that was killing him...wasn't doing much to soothe his soul. Nor Bodhi’s dogged insistence that his unique makeup meant nothing, wasn't enough to hold it off or tilt the odds in his favor...that proximity to his twin wouldn't help.

He twisted around...only one seat ahead he was still irritated that he wasn't with them...and leaned into the conversation.

"I heard them tell you. Some people survive. Look what you've already lived through. You could have a little more..."

"What, Connor. Faith? Someday, you know it'll be your turn. You'll just...know. Like Murphy knows. Like I know. We all get on this train at different times and we all get off at different stops. If you're paying attention....and people like us always do...you know when you're stop's coming. It's not a bad thing, Connor."

"No? How's that then."

"Gives you time to check the overhead compartment, make sure you got your phone charger, settle up your bill and say bye to all the friends you made on the journey."

"Not funny."

"Not trying to be. Connor...the bad thing would be sleeping through your stop. All of a sudden you're off the train and you never...nobody ever...saw it coming. You're just..."

"Stop. You have..."

"No chance, Conn. It's what I was telling Murphy. I know you're both pinning a lot of hope on Gavin, but you have to understand. He and I...we're not you and Murphy. We're not as strong as you are. Neither one of us is strong enough to keep the other alive for long. We strengthen each other up to a point, but unlike the two of you, who seem to have no limit to what you can do for each other, we reach critical mass. We burn out, burn up. Gavin left because he had to, because he'd used up everything he had to spare, and being near me was killing him. He was dying faster than I was. He can't help me, Connor. Being near him WILL help...but at his expense. I'm not gonna hurt him, Connor. And I'm not gonna let you make me. I'll go to New Orleans, you haven't given me a choice. But I won't..."

"You said you don't speak."

"We don't."

"Why?"

His shrug was noncommittal, vaguely reticent.

"When we talk we fight and we both hate that. It's better if we just...don't. And before one of you says something stupid it’s not that I don't love him. I do. More than anyone living I love him. And yes, I miss him. Every minute of my life I miss him."

"But you don't even talk on the phone?"

"No. It's better for both of us. I know, my family dynamic will always confound you. Yours isn't so normal, either."

He looked up at the sudden loud ding from overhead and sighed.

"Bout fuckin time. Murphy, you gotta put him down and buckle him in, they're threatening to actually take off. You guys ever fly before?"

"Once. Long time ago. We've kinda been avoiding large groups of people the past couple decades. Why?"

"You both look a little disoriented."

He sat back with a sigh as the plane began to move, discomfort warring irritation for dominance of his face.

"I'm not gonna thank you for this, Connor. I hate to fly."

He closed his eyes and reached for Murphy’s hand, fingers linking, sending a mingled rush of affection and jealousy through Connor, soothed somewhat by the amused little tickle in his head from his twin.

In Murphy’s world, there would always be more than enough love to go around.

He smiled at the thought and let his gaze linger on the faces of the people he was with...all of them family, and all...now that he really looked at them the realization left him a little breathless...so beautiful. Matthew, asleep and angelic, hair too long, probably...but then, that could be said for all of them... his face an eerie, perfect blending of the two of them without the slightest trace of his mother...almost too pretty for a boy.

Bodhi...but Christ he'd always found him lovely, more so now…skin gone translucent, those caramel lashes all but glowing against his cheek.

And Murphy, of course, who seemed to have transformed...in anyone else the ravages of body and mind he'd endured would have aged them...deepening lines, thinning skin, graying hair...and yet Murphy seemed to have dropped years, losing the age lines that had decorated his face when they'd arrived...he now appeared much closer to Bodhi’s nearly 30 than his own nearly 50...long hair pulled back...that unruly front piece hanging in his face as it was wont to do...mimicked by his own though he didn’t realize...and showing no trace of gray.

How had that happened?

Staring, caught as Murphy’s eyes flicked from the window and locked with his, he smiled at the stroking Murphy touch in his head, the barely suppressed surge of desire as his twin took him in, reflected his own thoughts back at him..."count yourself among then, brother"...and leaned forward, lips brushing his ear.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Connor." He pulled back a little, raised his voice to normal. "Now stop. There's a disturbing sense of goodbye in all of these beautiful thoughts in your head."

"I can't help it, Murph. I...can't you feel it?"

"That feeling we're not all gonna survive this little trip? I do. But I intend to ignore that so let's have no more sad goodbyes."

He settled back, leaning into Bodhi, appreciating his warmth in the chill cabin, grimacing a little against an unpleasant surge of nausea as the plane levelled off, banked, levelled again and his stomach slow rolled and levelled with it.

"Y'alright, Murph?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

He closed his eyes, abrupt and intense sleepiness suddenly taking hold, and felt himself drifting...Bodhi’s warmth against his side, Connor’s warmth in his head, and the bright little beacon that was Matthew combined into a peaceful comfort that tipped him into sleep.

It was a sound that woke him, barely half an hour later.

Light and quiet, barely audible, it penetrated his doze as jarring as a gunshot...a strange little gagging cough...and his eyes opened on Bodhi, reaching for the little airsickness bag, spitting something into it with a curse, muffled behind his hand.

He nodded at Murphy’s worried touch. "M'ok, my fuckin nose is bleeding."

He sniffed a little, gave that same strange cough, spit again, leaning forward against his hand. "D'want t'swallow too much of it. It'll make me sick and that'll just make it worse."

Murphy, noting the crimson leaking through his fingers, found the thought that it could get much worse more than alarming.

"Bodhi..."

"It's the pressure in the plane, Murphy. It'll stop. Reach up into my bag and grab out a t-shirt or something?"

His voice was disturbingly muddy and Murphy’s heart sped up as he realized just how much blood his friend was speaking through, wincing as he spat another mouthful into the bag.

"Connor."

He tapped his twin, not as lightly as he'd intended, in the head as he stood and reached above into Bodhi’s backpack, grabbing the first thing he touched...grimacing in his own right as he stretched up and something in his middle began an itching, sliding crawl through his guts, the sensation horribly familiar, igniting a panic that merged with his fear for Bodhi and flooded Connor, bringing him fully awake in seconds.

"Murphy, what..."

"He's bleeding..."

He handed the shirt he'd pulled out to Bodhi, stayed standing for a moment, waiting out the sickening crawl in his belly, felt it grow claws and dig in...

"Switch seats with me, Conn, help him..."

"Murphy..."

"Connor just help him."

He fell into Connor’s seat, trying to slow his breathing and quell the panic taking him over, glancing back at Bodhi...blood flowing slow, steady, and somehow deliberately...the t-shirt as towel too late to hide just how badly he was bleeding.

He felt Connor tapping in his head, shunted him away...felt his twins anger pulse.

"Conn, I'm ok, just..."

"Like hell you are."

"He's BLEEDING! Don't worry about me."

He pushed the call button set above the seat, gesturing behind him when the flight attendant arrived, forcing Connor’s attention away from him, and shut his eyes as the pain, alive and more terrible by the second, a million sentient knives dancing inside him, took over.


	91. Chapter 91

It took him a minute, lying in the darkness, barely aware of being awake, to identify what had awakened him.

Cody, coughing...retching...crying.

Crying?

While the first two had become disturbingly normal...and more often than not Cody didn’t want or accept any help...he didn't think he'd heard him cry since he was an infant and he was on his feet and headed for him in a blink.

He found him in the little back bathroom, as far from Gavin's room as the shotgun house would allow.

Why way back here?

"Cody..."

His brow came down, confused and concerned, as the boy flinched away from him...stark fear now stamped on his face.

"Cody, what is it?"

Just a headshake, backing away even as the terrible wracking cough began again, wet sounding, drowning...going to the gagging point and beyond.

He caught him as the vomiting started, held him even as he fought to get away, catching his eyes and finding them panicked and feral.

"Cody, honey, it's ok, it's me..."

He felt him give in...too sick to keep fighting...trembling all over. Terrified.

He could see the pulse beat in his throat, bird rapid...

He pulled him in close and felt him stiffen, stroked his back, his hair, kissed his head...baffled and frightened for him.

"Cody, baby, what is it? What's scaring you? Tell me..."

But he couldn’t, the tearing cough cycling around again...as mysterious as it was debilitating, no reason ever found for it, nor the suffocating accumulation of fluids that puffed his skin, filled his stomach, crowded his lungs.

No reason.

No solution, nothing he could do but this....hold him up until the cough made him vomit... offloading at least some of the fluid, though it never gave much relief....calm him down, keep him close.

But this panic? What was that?

At a loss, he was almost relieved when Cody, utterly spent...both the cough and the panic too much...fell into him, arms suddenly tight around his neck, words sobbed into his shoulder in a tone of desperate atonement, cycling madly..."I love you. I'm sorry. I love you..." repeating in hysterical cadence.

"Cody, honey. I love you too! Look at me, baby, look at me."

He loosened arms from around his neck, looked into tear-filled, heartbroken eyes.

What in god’s name was wrong?

"What're you sorry for, honey?"

"Whatever I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong, why do you think you did?"

"Why do you want me to die? I love you, Gavin please don't..."

His words gave out, panic stealing his breath, and he latched on again, burying his face...clinging. Shaking.

"Die?! Cody, why would I want you to die? You're not..."

"I heard you!"

Gasping for air now, in the grip of a full blown panic attack, his hands pressed into his chest as if willing the air in.

"I heard you say it...."

"Oh no. Oh Cody…"

He gathered him up, hugging him hard, his own shakes setting in as he realized what he'd done.

"No, no, no...never Cody, NEVER! I didn't mean that, honey, not even for a second, I was just trying to get across to someone how bad that other place is! I would never want you to die...I'd never in a million years let that happen."

"You said it."

"I shouldn't have. And I didn't mean it."

"I heard Murphy say you'd kill me."

"Heard MURPHY! When did you ever talk to Murphy?"

"Did you tell him that?"

"No, Cody, I've never even met Murphy."

"You dreamed about him. You told him you would kill me if he tried to take me and now he's coming..."

He didn't bother to denounce information garnered in a dream. Dream or no, it had scared Cody enough to do this to him, and this kid didn't scare easy.

Not to mention the fact they were both well aware of: these weren't ordinary dreams.

"I didn't mean it, Cody. I could never hurt you, you have to know that. I LOVE you."

"He told me that."

His shakes had begun to subside, his breath falling back into something like normal. "He told me..."

He started to cough again, this time reaching out for Gavin instead of cringing away, rode it out, fell against him...

"He told me it was him you hate. Not me."

"I don’t hate him. I just hate the thought of you with him. Look at me. You ok now?"

His nod was hesitant and shaky, hut Gavin thought the worst might be over.

"Come on, let’s put you back together. Cody..."

He ran warm water into the tub and helped him in, reflecting momentarily on the truth that illness was the only time Cody ever let himself be treated as the child he was.

"I need to know you KNOW this."

"What?"

"Nothing in this world can ever make me hurt you, no matter how much stupid comes out of my mouth."

"You really hate them..."

"No."

He rested his chin on the side of the old tub, idly noting the paint chipping off the feet, wondering how many more times he'd see it.

"They're good people, C, don’t let anyone...even me...ever convince you otherwise. But danger follows them around and I..."

His voice broke as tears filled his eyes and he felt Cody reach out and pat his hair, caught up his hand and held it.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. Like what happened to Bodhi..."

"Who is that?"

"My brother, baby. My twin. I see what happened to him every time I blink my eyes."

"What happened to him?"

"He got hurt..."

He felt himself drifting into memory and hauled himself back.

"Come on. Out of the tub...."

He got him dried off and settled in bed, wondering if sleep was possible for either of them, and wandered back to the front of the house....to the smells of linseed oil and paint...where daylight would eventually flood the rooms with sun, the shutters locked open...aberrant behavior, here, where shutters were kept closed to lock out the heat.

He smiled a little, thinking about the protests he heard about that from....well...everyone...but he'd never be one to shutter out the sun. And how could he paint in the dark?

He roamed the unfinished paintings in front of him, touched them...his heart heavy in the knowledge that there were people coming who were bringing with them the end to this life he'd made.

Simple, happy...and who in this world could honestly say they had a happy life? He could. And Cody.

Until now.

But this child he had here...Murphy’s child...was dying.

If these people could save him...

Sighing, he stepped out onto the porch and sank into the old chair.

They were on their way, in the air now. Every mile closer amplified the sense of his twin he always carried.

Bodhi. Christ but it had been so long...

For a split second the bitter trepidation in him turned to joy.

Sweetness personified. God, how he loved him. How he missed him.

Joy vanished as quickly as it had come, the black cloud of reality all too eagerly eclipsing it.

Bodhi was coming. And Bodhi was dying.


	92. Chapter 92

"Connor..."

"What, Bodhi."

He reached out for him absently...caught up in the mindless, automatic soothing he'd slipped into...touching, petting, stroking, hugging...contact.

There was little else he could do.

Though the flight staff had moved the four of them into the empty first class section…ostensibly to give them privacy they all knew it was more because they were freaking out the other passengers... given them a stack of towels and kept them supplied with ice, there was really nothing anyone could do.

Bodhi continued to bleed, and though it slowed at times it had never really stopped.

Cogency had slipped...disoriented, he became confused, forgetting where and when he was, by turns loving and combative, frightened and peaceful, lucid and utterly undone.

Pain had settled, cold and spiked, right between his eyes...drilling through his skull from the inside out...he swore it was from the ice packs pressed against his face, but one oddly wandering eye terrified Connor.

"S' Murphy"

Lucid, then, for now. And he looked a little better...not enough that Connor dared relax, but enough.

"Not much better than you."

"See if you ever take either one of us anywhere again."

The smile in his voice was further encouraging.

"You're both walking home. Look at me, let's see."

He tipped Bodhi’s head back a little, nodding at the lack of new gore.

"Bodhi, is it stopped y'think?"

"Mostly. Course I swallowed so much..."

"If you throw up and start it going again I'm throwing you off the plane."

Brief confusion crossed Bodhi’s face, clearing almost immediately but replaced with nervous worry.

"I forgot for a second we were on a plane. Been in and out a lot, huh?"

"A real lot and it's scarin the fuck outta me so..."

"Cabin pressure. It's not just...it's messing with the brain problem."

"I think you just lost a whole lotta blood, and it's spaced you out."

"No. What's wrong with Murphy?"

"I'm not sure. He's been makin me stay with you. He's hurtin bad...like...when he first got sick bad....but I don't know why. You I get it. The flight staff reamed me out for takin you on a plane."

"What? Why?!"

"You forgot to take off your hospital bands. They asked me what...Bodhi we're idiots. You were in the ER for hours with packs in your nose. They get it stopped, tell you to be careful not to do anything to get it going again and three hours later you're in the air."

"I forgot all about that. It was only bleeding cuz I fell on it. I was a little distracted by the brain virus."

"So was I. They asked me if you were cleared to fly...because I'm brilliant I said "cleared by who?""

"Oh no."

Seconds away from laughing, one look at Connor’s face changed his mind.

"Conn..."

"It's ok, I'm the one who forced you to come."

"Well I wasn't gonna say that. Where’s Matty?"

"Boy, you really...you don't remember? He's up front with Andrea."

"Lost."

"She drew the short straw and has to deal with us. Matty's currently not speaking to any of us."

"Why?"

"Because he's on a plane. Thank god he's just furious and not hysterical because that just might have finished me off."

Fury was too mild a word, and he knew it. Stark terror mingled with homicidal rage and the deepest disgust he'd ever seen was closer.

That none of them had considered what would happen when Matthew emerged from the drug stupor and found himself airborne...Connor didn't know about Murphy, as he'd switched himself off at the first blast of panicked fury from his son... but Connor was more deeply shamed than he could ever remember being.

Caught up in worry, he didn't immediately notice Matty was awake...had, in fact, forgotten he was even there until he found himself eyeball to eyeball with a little bundle of confusion.

He'd looked up and found him standing in front of his seat, face not an inch from his.

"Connor! Where are we?!"

He'd thought it might be exciting for him...though hindsight told him clearly ...he should have known better.

"We're on a plane, Matty."

"A plane."

"Yeah, we had to..."

"An AIRplane."

"Well yeah, Matty, an..."

"We're flying? Right now?"

"Yeah..."

"This floor. This floor right here that I'm standing on...."

He pointed, the expression on his face clearly communicating just what he thought of Connor’s ability to understand.

"This floor is an airplane? And underneath it is the sky?"

"It…yeah."

"So underneath it is just air?"

He picked up a foot...put it down...eyed the seats...and Connor saw panic flash across his face.

"Matty, it's...."

"I don't even go upstairs! Where can I go where there's something under me!"

"Well..."

"Nowhere, right?! Connor!"

He pushed into his face, both hands gripping the sides of Connor’s head.

"Connor. I want..."

He spoke slowly, clearly, as if Connor were too stupid to understand...something he obviously believed.

"...to get down."

"Ma..."

"I want to get down, Connor."

"You will. When we land."

"When."

"About four hours."

The color had simply vanished from his face, and for a moment Connor had been sure he was going to pass out...he'd reached out for him only to have his hand rudely slapped away.

"What's wrong with Murphy?"

"I don't know, he's sick."

"And him?"

"The plane's making his nose bleed."

He'd shot them a look of such disgust Connor felt slimy, and climbed into a seat, both feet tucked beneath him, hands immediately snaking into his hair and pulling.

He hadn't spoken to them again, but when their flight attendant...Andrea, she of the short straw...had appeared a short time later, he'd grabbed her hand and stood up in the seat...nobody's fool, Connor had thought, he knew how to play being tiny and cute...speaking something...not quite loud enough for Connor to hear. She'd agreed immediately and Matthew had graced Connor with another of those scathing glares.

"I'm going with her."

He had, and she'd come back a few minutes later to tell Connor that she'd set him up in near the rest of the flight staff with her laptop and a movie.

He'd come back a few times to check on Murphy...somehow grouping Bodhi and Connor together in his mind as idiots who needed no attention from him...stepping gingerly always, as if he expected the floor to vanish beneath his feet...but he wouldn't sit with them.

For now it was working.

Relaying this to Bodhi, he was stricken by the look on his friends face...guilt, dismay, anger...fused into terrible confusion.

"Bodhi, what..."

"I know he hates heights. I would have told you but..."

He looked up, baffled wonder in his eyes. "I forgot, Connor."

"I know you did. We had this conversation already."

"We did?"

"We did. And it bothered you just as much the first time. Bodhi."

He slipped an arm around him, hugged him gently, careful not to jar him.

"Let it go. You've had about as rough a day as it gets. Just let it go. And if it makes you feel any better, I completely forgot he was on the plane till he woke up."

"I...Connor, how much do you think I've been forgetting? And don't know it?"

"I don't."

"Why not?"

"Matty would have noticed and as soon as he did, we would have known. Bodhi...let it be."

"I guess I have to. You better let me go, Conn..."

"You sick?"

"Yeah..."

He'd known it was inevitable, and wasn't surprised.

Connor handed him a bag, held him a little tighter.

"M'not lettin you go, though."

He waited it out, held on, and realized...abruptly and with intense surprise...just as they both noticed Bodhi’s nose was bleeding again ... that he'd been praying.


	93. Chapter 93

Murphy's world slipped, shifted...fell back in time...and the lines blurred.

Half asleep...no sweet, comfortable doze, this...no...but the defensive cowering of consciousness brought on by pain...reality spun and he found himself back in bed, dying by inches, Connor in mute, gaunt vigil at his side, with a loaded gun they both prayed he'd have the courage to use....

Running, shredded and bloody and lost through a night that seemed endless...

And here, curled in an airplane seat trying not to move, not to breathe, while pain tore through his guts, acid rose in his throat, and nausea rose and fell in waves that dragged helpless, involuntary groans from him... the hum of engines and convectors, murmur of voices and footsteps of strangers a not loud enough wall of ambient sound that did nothing to drown out the incoherent ramblings of the boy next to him...the boy who'd saved them both…or the all too clear liquid pattering of blood into paper and onto the floor, choking his throat as he tried to speak.

He wanted to tell him to stop, tell him he loved him, hold on to him and never let go again...wanted to...couldn't...held in limbo by his treacherous consciousness, allowing him enough awareness to understand what was happening, not enough to break free and act.

Furious with himself, he struggled to break free of the grip tight limbo...thrashing and screaming and...nothing, his efforts only in his mind, trapped in this half dream.

"N'no, Murph, don't do that."

Connor, touching his face and his mind...no real comfort but real, his voice a line into the waking world.

"You're never stuck in a dream, brother. You know I'll go in after you. I wish you'd let me see..."

But he wouldn’t, no chance. He'd blocked this pain from his brother...and more urgently his son...as soon as it hit. They didn't need to feel this.

He'd let him pull him free, though, that he would do.

His eyes blinked open, assessed the situation involuntarily, latched onto Connor.

"Where's Matty?"

Two words and they sent his stomach lurching...

"Up front watching a movie. How bad do you feel?"

"Bad. Feels like it did...."

He didn't need to mention when, it was all too clear to them both.

"You know that's not possible, right?"

His face answered...a mix of agreement and skepticism that made Connor laugh in spite of himself.

"It's not, brother. I've been talking to the poor girl who's been dealing with us. How much did you hear?"

He shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, felt his breath catch and stick in his throat as pain stabbed anew, felt Connor’s hand on his neck, soft...some tiny comfort.

"Conn..."

Christ he felt sick.

"I know."

"Didn't hear much..."

Oh, but now the waves were back, cutting him off, lapping at his throat, increasingly tidal, bringing that acid burn with them.

He tried to swallow and couldn't...his throat felt paralyzed, tight, caught in reverse...

"Murphy, here...just let it melt."

He felt something cold pass his lips and felt his throat unlock a little and let him swallow.

God bless Connor.

"Christ. Thank you..."

He felt himself tearing up and forced it away, pulled his mind away from himself.

"Bodhi..."

"Right next to you, brother. Check him if you want but don't wake him."

He chanced a look...felt his heart sink.

Asleep, yes, and no longer bleeding...face wiped clean by Connor but so pale. So...diminished.

"He got real sick a little bit ago...started it up again...but she brought some stuff..."

He reached into the drink holder, pulled out a trial sized spray bottle and handed it over.

"Afrin. I guess this is standard airplane nosebleed first aid. Along with the ice. It worked..."

"Or he bled out."

"Quit. You want more ice?"

He wanted to go back to sleep, his consciousness attempting a sideslip into oblivion, and fought it off.

"Yeah."

"Awake enough to hold a cup?"

"Sure."

He watched his brother...simple and uncomplicated, moving...reaching...easy and supple and pain free...and felt a little stab of envy riding an infuriating wave of self-pity.

Disgusted with himself, he couldn't quite push it away.

"Here, Murph. Shouldn't you sit up? The way this days going you'll choke to death on an ice cube."

"N'mgood like this."

"Take this, then. How bad is it, Murphy."

He took the cup, pressed it to his face for a minute, thought about it.

"It's bad. If I don't move it just feels like I'm sick with something. If I do...it's like it was...Connor, all I did was reach up and it felt like everything inside me came apart."

"It didn't. But you shouldn't have flown."

He sat back, sighed, shut his eyes.

"This whole thing, Murph. Biggest clusterfuck ever. Our girl there...Andrea's her name...she saw those hospital bands Bodhi didn't take off and asked if he'd been cleared to fly. When we didn't even know what she meant I thought for a minute she might just open the door and pitch us out. Then she saw your tubes..."

A memory tried to surface in Murphy’s mind, hazy and vague, disquieting.

"I think...did she talk to me about it?"

"She tried. I knew you weren't connecting, I tried to tell her. When she came to tell us to move in here."

He remembered someone hounding him, lying to him, coming at him from beyond a wall of quasi sleep.

"Was I an asshole?"

"Little bit....maybe."

He knew that look.

"How bad?"

"So bad, Murphy."

The laugh in Connor’s voice was undeniable. "So bad. I don't envy her this day. She had Bodhi bleeding all over the place and then yelling at her, you making comments...loud comments... about Ebola when she asked you to move..."

"I did not!"

But...had he? It was vague...but it was there.

"Yes you did. I told her...don't talk to him, he's not really awake and he's freaked out...she did anyway. You told her to quit bullshitting that it was for us when it was really cuz the whole plane thought we had Ebola. That did a hell of a lot for the other passengers’ piece of mind. Then she saw your lines...asked if those were just put in this morning and had you also just wandered out of the ER and onto a plane...course then Matty woke up and went a little off about being on a plane...then Bodhi’s nose had just finally quit bleeding and he threw up and started it going again...but she googled up your situation...ish. Close as she could find to it anyway and at least we know you're probably not dying even if you feel like it. Same as with his fuckin nosebleed, the air pressure...makes things inside expand...and you're all scarred up in there and it's gonna hurt...a lot...and things might get even more unpleasant when you get off the plane."

"You didn't breathe just now at all."

"Shut up."

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"There's something else..."

He stopped, swallowed, went again for the ice...

“So what is it?"

"Besides you turning green beside me?"

"Yeah, besides that."

"You really want to know?"

"Not at all but tell me anyway."

"No way in hell are they gonna let us on our connecting flight. Me and Matty, maybe, but the two of you? Not a chance in hell, and of course we have a connecting flight because there was nothing that even considered being a direct flight from Boston to fucking New Orleans and I picked the closest one…which, by the way, is in Texas...which means we overshoot the entire state of Louisiana and have to backtrack...oh, and besides not being allowed to get on another plane we'll probably have security all over us when we land because your son's been calling us by name since he woke up, and our victim...."

He broke off, scowling at Murphy’s snort at 'victim'.

"Shut the fuck up, it's not funny. She already thought it was sketchy that you two were flying, now she knows you and I are flying under assumed names. How you think that's gonna go?"

"You didn't breathe again this time either."

"Murphy!"

"Connor...you're worrying about crazy stuff...our names are legally ours and we got proof. It doesn't matter what a little kid calls us. Where IS he?"

"He'll pass through any minute now. He comes, checks on you, glares at me...and him... and leaves."

"Why's he...aw fuck..."

The world abruptly rose, motion ferociously igniting his illness, and the temperature in the cabin suddenly seemed to rise 20 degrees. Groaning, he felt sweat break out everywhere, all at once, as the nausea waves he'd been riding merged into one and held, the stabbing in his middle suddenly an explosion.

"Conn..."

A horrid, sick tingle was spreading over his face, his head...

"Connor!"

"Yeah, I know. We just went up... I don't know why. S' it pain, or are you sick."

He felt Connor’s hand touch his forehead, his neck...

"Both..."

He couldn't swallow...couldn't breathe...and his mouth and throat were suddenly coated in thick spit he couldn't clear, choking him, gagging him...

"Murphy, sit up!"

Too late, he grabbed the towel Connor pushed into his hands barely in time, retching until he didn't know which would give out first...his throat or everything inside him.

It seemed hours...in reality only minutes...before it let him go and he finally caught a breath...still as miserably sick as he had been before.

Gray faced and sweating, he glanced at Connor, shook his head, and curled onto his side, another towel clutched in his hand...and felt a small, cool touch on his cheek, something blessedly cold pressed to the back of his neck.

He looked up and found Matthew, saw the worry in his face, reached for his hand and squeezed it, as reassuring as he could be given the way he knew he must look, and heard Connor...forever on the same page.

"He's not feelin so good, Matty but he'll be ok."

"I know that, Connor"

"Hey. What's that about?"

There had been a good degree of disgusted contempt in his voice....and Murphy didn't much care for it.

He didn't want to move...would have given anything not to...but he forced himself back upright, riding out the rush of nausea with a little break in the wall between his mind a Matthews, saw his eyes widen. Good. Let him know...just a little...what this trip was costing.

He popped the seat back up and leaned back, wiping away sweat.

"Why you talking to him like that?"

"Murph, it's..."

"No it's not. Matthew. You don't talk to him like that. Ever. I don't care how pissed you are."

"You do."

The scorn was there, now, for Murphy, and he heard Connor struggling not to laugh.

"He's my brother. I can. I can knock the fuck out of him too. Doesn't mean anybody else can."

"But Murphy..."

The scorn was gone, replaced by patient reasonableness. He reached for Murphy’s face, held it as if he were a stubborn child, and looked into his eyes...Connor, close now to strangling.

"We're on a plane. A plane, Murphy. In the air."

Murphy, still feeling as if the cabin were a sauna, and for once hating the feel of anyone touching him...it would come to him later that that might have been a deliberate shot from his son...brushed Matty’s hands from his face.

"You think I had nothing to do with that? It was me who decided we had to go. If you have to be mad at someone..."

"Yeah, but they're in charge."

It was too much for Connor. Choking back laughter... and comment... he was up and through the doorway.

Murphy, unimpressed, barely spared him a glance, looking over at Bodhi...now fully awake and interested, wisely keeping silent.

"Matty..."

He rubbed at his eyes, too hot and sick to have any idea what to say, knowing he had to find something.

"Even if they are, don't you think there's gotta be a reason for this? You think any of us WANTED..."

He had to stop...talking edging him back to the tipping point...breathed through it, forced it back...and heard his sons little hum of distress.  
Shaky, knuckling sweat again from his eyes, he made himself keep going.

"None of us wanted to do this, nobody wanted to take you out of bed and put you on a plane. Fuck, Matthew! Look at me. Look at Bodhi! You think we wanted this?"

"No…"

"No. But there was no choice, Matty. No choice at all. There isn't time to drive."

"Why not? Murphy where are we even going?!"

"Aw fuck. You don't...shit. We really didn't tell you anything."

"No, Murphy. You really didn't tell me anything."

The rudeness had come back into his voice and Murphy bristled.

"If you don't watch that fuckin TONE Matty...Jesus just sit down."

He stopped again, sure this time it was over...he was going to vomit, no doubt...managed to fight it back again.

"I can't keep talking, Matty, or I'm gonna throw up."

"Well go ahead, then, and tell me after."

The words, in all their glorious rudeness, had barely exited his mouth...when Murphy’s switch flipped.

Eyes blazing, his hand shot out faster than either Matthew or Bodhi could see, hooking into the little boy’s shirt and pulling him in close.

"Don't you push me. DON'T you push me. You'll not use that tone with me again, nor with any of us, are you understanding me? And if you're really the type that doesn't care if someone's got to suffer just so long as he gets what he wants then we'll have nothing more to say to each other...ever. Are y'understanding that, then?"

He let him go, too quickly, watched him stumble...gaze cold…dispassionate.

"I'd suggest you take yourself to find Connor. If anyone's going to tell you what this is about, it's to be him. Would have been me, but I'm no longer inclined. Now take yourself away from me."

He leaned back again, eyes closed, waiting for the fire to die down. When it did, the sickness would come back, he knew.

Distantly...muffled a little by the anger still roaring in his head...he heard Bodhi’s voice:  
"If I were you I'd do what he says"...felt the tentative prod of his son in his mind and slammed it shut.

Let him go find Connor and beg information from him when he'd treated him like dirt. Let him see how that tasted, and what it did for him.

He heard him leave...quietly and with no histrionics...the kid was tough, there was that...and a moment later he felt Connor’s questing little tap in his mind and let him see.

Understanding flooded in, and reassurance...not that he thought he needed any...and he let himself relax...felt Bodhi move in next to him, put one of the paper airsick bags in his hand and settle against him.

Alone, now, they shored each other up as the plane roared on toward Houston.


	94. Chapter 94

Though Bodhi was the one ostensibly dying, by the time the plane touched down in Houston, he looked a great deal more lively than Murphy showed any sign of considering.

Once the bleeding had stopped he'd had flight attendants all but tripping over themselves to nursemaid him...and as Connor delighted in pointing out, he had only his pretty face to blame...that and his undeniably peaceful nature...the first thing he'd done was apologize for hollering at them all, bringing a veritable chorus of reassurances....and he couldn't help but notice that while they'd all asked his name, they'd all also invariably called him sweetheart, honey, or any one of a dozen other endearments rather than use it... and the limitless pressing of various juices and snacks on him in such abundance he'd had no choice but to shut them off...it was more than even Matty could handle...still...while the attention had both puzzled and discomfited...he felt better. Still weak, still shaky, and much much too pale...but human, at least, and well able to navigate existing.

Murphy, on the other hand, was unresponsive and gray...resembling nothing so much as a week old previously frozen corpse.

His consciousness had fled...the parallels between this illness and the one that had nearly killed them both were just too many and too close. On the surface, he had no feelings of trauma...but deep beneath, where dark things slumbered and hid...there his mind shrieked and gibbered under the weight of memory, clawing madly for release until cogency simply gave up.

After another couple of hours of unrelenting, tearing pain...broken up by several more episodes of vomiting that gave absolutely no relief...his mind slipped sideways, leaving him in a strange limbo world halfway between sleep and coma...aware of every sight and sound, aware of his body...his pain...and the people around him...but distant...removed from it all, unable to connect any of it to himself and uninterested in trying.

He still felt horrible...but he no longer cared. It didn’t, honestly, seem to have anything much to do with him.

His brain on autopilot, he maintained with no understanding that he was doing so...reaching for the bag when nausea tipped over into vomiting...getting up and roaming...silent and dead eyed...when his feet and legs started to ache and numb up... swallowing whatever he was handed and asked to sip...all of it completely separate from him.

Even Matthew...who'd indeed gone to Connor, chastised and in complete understanding of the fact that he'd crossed a line...albeit one he hadn't known existed...and come back to Murphy ready to make peace...didn't seem to apply to him. He was as distant and unimportant as everything...everyone...else.

The only touchstone left to him was Connor...fully engaged and locked into his mind his brother wasn't going anywhere...or letting him.

Absolutely understanding that this retreat was utterly involuntary, he wasted no time trying to talk Murphy into cogency. Instead, he let him be...locking onto him, reassuring and comforting, and making sure that Murphy...awake and aware deep deep down inside himself...kept talking to him.  
It hadn't been difficult to connect, and he wasn't particularly worried...defense was defense, and what other way did his brother have to protect himself?

He let it be...concerned for Matty, who simply didn't have the life experience or sophistication to understand, and who just wanted Murphy...to apologize to...to make up with...to be with...and didn't understand this remote, disconnected, unresponsive stranger Murphy...HIS Murphy... had become.

Connor had tried to explain, and had more or less completely failed to make him understand, had in fact only made him angry.

No stranger to debilitating pain...or emotional trauma...for Matty the idea of retreating into some weird hiding place in your head smacked of cowardice.

"I never do that, Connor."

"Yeah, well, people didn't live to kill you for 30 years either, tough guy. You've been through a lot...he's been through more."

"But Connor..."

He was starting to stress out, and Connor could see the tension ripples starting. Already freaked out, Murphy lost inside his own head was tipping him over.

"He's just GONE, Connor!"

"No, he's not. I've got him right here..."

He tapped his temple, touched his chest.

"And he's not gone. But he had to pull back, that's all. And it's just for a little while. Look, why don't you just sit down and hang with him a while, Matty. Talk to him. He's there, he can hear. He knows everything that's going on. We're landing real soon, go be with him, you both need it."

They did...and he, honestly, needed the break...oddly envying his brothers ability...subconscious though it was...to set his own autopilot and check out for a breather. The thought brought a flash of worry laced with an image of swirling emptiness....Murphy, reminding him that when he checked out he did it all the way.

Well...he knew, and he was nowhere near that place...not yet. If these people he was with didn't pull it together, though...jumping off into nothing might just be the saner option.

Sighing, wondering when this particular nightmare would finally end, he watched Matty climb into the seat next to Murphy’s and pull up the armrest, pressing himself against his side, curling against him, clinging to his arm, leg crooked onto his...almost but not quite sitting in his lap. To seek out that much contact...he was scared.

"Maybe my brother's right."

Bodhi, voice soft in his ear.

"What about?"

He smiled a little, watching Murphy shift...carefully...pull his arm free and slip it around his son...saw the relief on the little boy’s face.

"Maybe Gavin has the right idea...this is no kind of life for him. No seven-year old should live with this kind of strain. Look at his face. So wrong that it should be so pained. It's not even his...we put it on him. This situation is ours and he's just..."

"Along for the ride."

"Yes."

"What're you thinking?"

"Maybe we shouldn't take him. Cody. He's safe with Gavin."

"The boys need to be together."

"Murphy dreamed that, Connor. This whole thing could be a...a..."

"Fool’s errand?"

"Yes."

"It could be. I guess we'll find out when we get there."

The fasten seatbelts sign blinked on, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the speaker blared into life announcing their immanent landing.

"Whattaya think, Bodhi. They gonna let us on our connecting flight?"

"Snowball's chance in hell. Murphy's rejoining us, he just buckled Matty in."

"I know. He's been trying for a little bit but I think maybe his heart wasn't all the way in it. How far away is New Orleans from where we're landing?"

"Not sure...four hours? Five, maybe?"

"Drivable. Problem solved. The rest of this trip...in the bag."

Of course... an unexpected, terrifying phone call and two hours later...clinging to the door in the breakdown lane, afraid to open his eyes and see how many of his insides had just come up and landed on the pavement beside the car...he'd realize those words were a universal challenge...and that this race to bring two children together was choking the breath from one and had just left the other wide open and unprotected.

An hour out of Houston they realized how dangerous this game they were playing really was.


	95. Chapter 95

The argument had been going on for over an hour...onerous in the close confines of the car...and tempers were wearing thin...at least for the twins. Matthew, relieved to be on the ground again at last, had dozed off almost immediately.

Bodhi...feeling better the closer they got to New Orleans, and deeply desirous of not making the brothers point for them...had simply made himself as small and quiet as possible and hoped they'd forget he was there.

It seemed a reasonable hope...they were so intent on their argument he suspected an elephant could squeeze its way into the back seat and they'd take no notice.

"Conn, we don't need to stop, we don't. We DON'T.  I'm ok."

"The hell we don't, Murph! Look at you! Hell, HE looks better than you do and he's halfway bled out...."

"Well that was fuckin rude, don’t y'think?”

"...and how many times have we stopped? Hmmm? Everything in y'that’s not nailed down is exiting one way or another, Murphy! We're on a fuckin tour, brother, of gas station restrooms! You're SICK! You're not even remotely close to ok."

There was no getting around it, and Murphy fell silent, scowling...and wincing, as pain flared inside...bad enough on its own, miserably joined this time by nausea.

He shut his eyes, willed it away, dry swallowing...the spit in his mouth long since gone.

Connor, seeing the sweat break out on his brothers face, backed down, tone softening.

"See, Murph? Y'alright then, or d'you need me to stop?"

"M'ok."

"Murph..."

"Just drive, Connor."

He sounded weary...too tired of the whole thing to bother, and the disinterest made Connor nervous.

"Murph, y'know if you want to be any use to anyone when..."

"You just let me decide how much use I can be."

Connor, infinitely familiar with this particular brand of Murphy stubborn, quit talking and resolved himself...for the time being at least...to just getting them as far down the road as he could.

They didn’t get far...another exit... before Murphy’s battered system revolted again, forcing them to stop...worse than ever this time...he was vomiting again along with everything else...and it didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to stop...so close to the deadly pain from his past he found himself fighting his minds urgent need to run...to flee...aware he’d lost that battle only when he found himself staring... vacantly and utterly without thought... into the pattern of grime on the restroom floor with the feeling he'd been seeing it for a very long time, as his guts still clenched and his stomach still heaved...the bile he brought up indistinguishable from the rest of the sludge on the floor between his feet.

 

Connor didn't hold much with regret, and over the course of his life had done little he could honestly say he was sorry for with any real sincerity...but the roadside hamburger was beginning to be a very real, very serious exception.

Hungry enough that his head had begun to ache, despite the plethora of plane snacks Matthew and Bodhi had hauled off the plane, he'd grabbed one of the microwaved atrocities while he waited for Murphy to come back from the bathroom, hardly giving it a thought at the time, and forgetting he'd eaten at all as soon as Murphy emerged...all sunken, black circled eyes, parched lips and gray skin.

He'd forced a liter if Gatorade on him...ignoring his protests that he hated that shit...threatening him with a stop at the nearest emergency room if he didn't cooperate...a threat enthusiastically backed by Bodhi.

Outnumbered, Murphy had capitulated, sipping it steadily if without good grace, and now, not an hour later, he looked almost human again. 

Good for him.

Connor...suddenly not feeling the least bit human... had begun to wish he'd opted for Gatorade himself instead of any kind of food, as he slugged down bottle after bottle of water in an unsuccessful attempt to dilute or wash out whatever was causing the increasingly unmanning nausea...the kind, he reflected, that takes your balls and hands them to you while you cry for your mother and how fucking perfect....that had begun to roll through him.

The burger had resurfaced in his memory...the image seeming to taunt him...and every thought of it sent a fresh wave of sickness.

That was the culprit, no doubt about it.

And damned if he wasn't starting to shiver.

And sweat.

If it didn't pass...or peak, whichever way it needed to go...soon, he knew, he wouldn't be able to keep driving.  
The road had already begun to tilt and roll a little, keeping time with the waves...and the shakes were fast going out of control. He could hear his teeth chattering.

Grimly...holding himself together by sheer will...he ground his teeth together and drove on, ignoring the increasing pitch and yaw of the landscape, ever worsening chills....and fuck his hands were so cold they hurt...and the sick tightness rising into his throat with every blink of his eyes. Completely focused...the struggle to stay on the road equal now to the struggle not to vomit, his entire awareness pinpointed onto the road ahead of him and  
he wasn't aware he was weaving, didn't notice the alarm on his brothers face or feel it touch his mind.

"Connor!"

He heard his name, shrugged it off, unimportant.

"Conn! Jesus...Connor, pull over!"

Fat chance. If he pulled over now he might never get going again.  He shook his head...unaware that the car followed the motion, registering only another stomach turning wave...and then Murphy was everywhere....in his head, loud and insistent, in his face...forcing his attention....hands on the wheel, moving his aside...voice in his ear, steady...reasonable...stable.

"Connor! Pull the car over brother, right now. You're gonna go right off the road. DON'T argue. Do it."

He didn't have much choice. His brother had his mind AND the wheel, and he gave in...pulled over...hating the tingling unease at being on the side of the highway, a million worst case scenarios playing in his head.

"Murphy, what."

The words almost gagged him, lack of motion now that they were stopped setting up a horrific lurching vertigo and he felt Murphy reach across him and push open his door.

Envisioning some speeding truck roaring by and tearing it off, he started to protest...gagged again on his own words and felt Murphy’s hand touch his neck, settle on...comforting and grounding.

"Quit trying to talk, Conn, and breathe. Nobody's gonna hit us, we're way WAY off the road...aw Jesus..."

His hand slid in, held tighter as Connor’s body shuddered and he leaned out the door with a groan, everything coming up at once...all at once... giving way to violent heaving that refused to stop....his misery only compounded by the traffic flying by, causing him to flinch back with every car that passed.

"Easy, Conn, they're not gonna hit you either."

He waited it out with him, finally felt things begin to subside and let go...Connor’s little whimper of distress in his mind as well as his ear...reached into the back for water....noting Bodhi, eyes on his phone, seemingly completely oblivious to all of this... nudging the bottle into his brothers hand as his settled back into place on his neck.

"What's wrong with you, huh?"

He watched him spit water out onto the pavement, felt the shivers still running through his body, heard his teeth rattling...Jesus. Really sick, no doubt about it.

“What happened?"

Murphy’s hand on his neck stilled...motion right now a bad idea...but stayed there...as solid a ground as ever, and Connor leaned back into it, feeling a little better in mind, if not body.

"Fuckin..."

He almost couldn't say it, further proof that it was indeed the problem.

"Gas station hamburger."

"Conn...really?"

Murphy shook his head and tried to catch his brother’s eyes...no mean feat as they were suddenly everywhere...anywhere...else... and his expression fought for space somewhere between puzzled and teasing.

"If I remember right...I mean, correct me if I'm wrong...but haven't..."

"Shut up."

"...those things made you sick before?"

"What part of shut up..."

"I mean...I know you wanted us to stop, but don't you think poisoning yourself was a little extreme?"

"It wasn't on purpose, don't be an ass."

"I know. I know it wasn't. You better?"

"Not really."

"Well.... c'mon, switch places with me."

"What? No! No way. You can't..."

"I can. Or Bodhi can, he's a whole lot better even though he's tryin to hide it.  One of us...other than you, you were just all over the fuckin road...YES you were, don't even bother... is gonna drive till we get to an exit with a motel. You get your wish, brother. We're gonna stop. Now get up."

Feeling entirely too horrible to argue any more, Connor only nodded, wiping sweat with the back of his hand.

"Ok. Ok...just...gimme a second."

"As long as you need."

He glanced into the back seat, frowning a little at Matthew, who appeared oblivious...could he really still be asleep? Faking, he had to be. And Bodhi, still locked onto that phone.

"Bodhi, is he really asleep?"

He startled him on purpose, saw him jump, noted the unease that crossed his face as he thumbed the phone off...unease...and guilt.

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"This is a lot to deal with, y'know? He's not too given to displays, your son. Way more apt to hide in himself. Lot like you, that way."

Gently chiding, there was no malice in his tone...just sincerity, honest, direct, and unintimidated... and Murphy smiled a little. When they called him brother it was with good reason. Didn't change the fact of that furtive look.

He felt Connor in his head, caught the thought.

'Hiding something'

'I know.'

He let it be for the moment, catching another little tap...Matthew. Awake.  Letting them know, quite deliberately, that he was also keeping something from them.

He smiled at the brush of amusement from Connor, and held on to it. Let the two of them have their secrets. For now.

"Bodhi, you want to drive?"

"Drive!"

His alarm couldn't have been more blatant.

"What? No!  Why?"

"Can y'not see him?"

Connor’s face had taken on a deathshead shade of green white, and Bodhi...only just really rejoining the moment...reflected, somewhat uneasily, that it went well with Murphy’s gray.

"Jesus, look at the two of you. Connor, what..."

"Don't even ask. It's not gonna kill me, but the landscapes got a bit of a motion problem."

"That’s great. Murphy, you're not a bit better, are you."

"I am."

He'd meant it as spoken, but the words were no sooner out that he felt the now familiar grinding cramp in his belly...mild now but promising to intensify.

"Not much...but some."

"Damn little...alright. We better not have far to go. You guys suck, I want you to really understand that."

"Why this time?"

"Fuck off, Connor. Y'know if you'd just quit fighting it and puke already..."

"Oh I already did."

His voice was dangerously mild, and Murphy’s nerves...if not Bodhi’s...began to fire. Connor, sick, was a little like a sleeping lion. Tread gently and you'd probably be fine. Provoke him and you'd likely lose your head.

"Missed it, huh?"

"I'm not Murphy. I don't spend my existence tuned in to the minutiae of yours. If you want me to drive, get outta the seat."

Murphy, a little put out at the insinuation, felt his indignation give way to concern as Connor clicked hard into his head. Not mad...worried....and fully engaged.

Something was up.

Bodhi, recognizing their silent communication, shook his head in disdain, and opened his door, climbing out with a wince as his head thumped in protest, slamming it shut behind him.

"And you can quit that, too. It's so fucking rude."

He noticed the mess on the pavement and shook his head again, disgust redolent in his voice.

"You'll have to pull forward if you want to get out without stepping in that."

"Jesus, what're you so bitchy about?"

He jumped back as Connor...feeling more than a little bitchy himself despite the set worry…slammed the car into gear and gunned it forward several feet, missing Bodhi’s feet by inches.

"Dick move, Connor! What the fuck!"

Connor, completely drained and unable to even consider maintaining the show of temper, hauled himself out and staggered around to the other side, hanging onto the car...and then Murphy...close to knocking him back into the car as the majority of his weight landed on him.

"Just doin what I'm told, brother. You and Murph work out who's drivin, yeah?"

He fell into the seat, eyeing Murphy critically.

"Though judging by the way he looks..."

Bodhi hadn't known it was going to happen, hadn't even known he was close, as surprised as the twins when his temper suddenly surged...and boiled over.

"The way HE looks?! Are you KIDDING me, Connor! He has a fucking stomach ache!  I've been on chemo for months and I feel like ass! I woke up in the emergency room this morning and found out my life is almost over! My FRIENDS don’t give me ten seconds to get used to the idea before they threaten me and put me on a plane and I fucking bleed out half my goddamn blood volume! Now I'm stuck in a car with one guy who can't stay outta the bathroom for ten minutes at a stretch, one who's puking his guts out...this little boy I LOVE is so freaked out he's completely shut down,  
I haven't had any real sleep, real food or any time at all to even think about any of this AND my fucking twin brother, who I haven't spoken to in a decade, somehow has my number and’s been blowing up my phone for an hour! I feel like shit, I'm completely freaked out, all I want to do is fuckin cry... AND NOW YOU WANT ME TO DRIVE! I really hate you both....oh FUCK!"

He sniffed, swiped at his nose with the back of his hand and it came away streaked red.

"And now I'm fucking bleeding again! Why couldn't the two of you just leave me alone?!"


	96. Chapter 96

He'd pushed them away, brushed them off, closed down... a final rush of temper cum panic provoking him into throwing his phone...good and hard and there was absolutely no saving it...into the oncoming traffic stream, thereby eliminating at least that one source of stress...and firing one last remark...scathing and calculated to wound... directly into Murphy’s heart.

"I've given you two everything...you've taken my whole life. The least you could do is let me die without you up my ass. And you can drive your own fucking car."

He'd been about to walk away...as truly and completely done with the whole thing as he'd ever been with anything...more than ready to find his own way home...when Murphy appeared in front of him...simply appeared...seemingly without moving....Bodhi would think later that it was almost as if he'd levitated up out of the road bed...no trace of anger in his eyes, no hurt on his face....no gesture of affection, atonement, aggression...nothing. He'd simply appeared, expression calm, voice soft and clear.

"Please don't leave."

And really...where was there to go?

Nothing to say, he'd gotten back in the car...true to his word he wasn't driving...he got in the back, almost immediately confronted with Matthew...eerily like Murphy as he stared into Bodhi’s eyes...and brain. Wordless and not quite blank and too much like the twins.

"Stop it."

He snapped it out, waved him back to his own space, shut him out, shut his eyes and tried not to think.

\--------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't as if he had far to go...an exit promising lodging no more than a handful of miles down the road...or ever driven further in much worse physical shape...but it was easily the most interminable drive of Murphy’s life, to date.

The pain in his guts he could ignore...there was nothing left in him, the amount of damage that could be done regardless of how far he had to go without stopping was minimal and he honestly didn't care. It hurt...but he'd certainly hurt worse...more...and for longer.

It was more his head dragging it out...stretching time to never-ending.

His son...right behind him, a million miles away...knowingly keeping something from him.  
Bodhi...the things he'd said, so true and so intensely guilt producing even though...guilt flaring briefly to anger, fading back, flaring again as his mind dog boned it...they'd never asked him to save them, never asked for his life, hadn't even known...ignorance no absolution, it had happened whether they'd known it or not...endorsed it or not...  
Hadn't meant to kill him by inches, break apart his family...because oh yes…they'd done it. Oblivious to it, it made no difference, they'd done it and they'd split TWINS...  
Hadn't meant to reopen old wounds...

The image of Bodhi’s phone, oddly enough....spinning and flashing glints of razor bright sunlight, smashing onto the roadbed, shattering on impact and crushed by traffic...appeared again and again behind his eyes, distracting...irritating...killing him with the knowledge that the twin...on that phone...spinning into destruction...had been in contact with them in this world. The waking world. Life from a dream and WHY hadn’t they known! Hidden from them both and now cut off and if it hurt him...his SON was on the other end of that line in the waking world...how much more did it hurt Bodhi? And why had he done it?

He wanted to claw his brain out...almost grateful when Connor tapped his hand and his mind, needing to stop and stop now, sick again, retching spit and bile onto the blacktop...painful for them both but at least it was real. Physical. Beyond the confines of his hideous mind in all of its insistent refusal to quit already.

Sighing, pulling back out into heat shimmers and glare, he reached for Connor’s hand, relief...mutual...minimal... but there... as their fingers caught and tangled and time stretched ahead of them with the road.

\--------------------------------------------------------

They'd agreed...and at least there was that...that they'd stop only long enough to regroup, to rest...to eat, drink, sleep...until someone felt well enough to drive the remaining few hours without running them off the road.

As it was, there was precious little real rest for anyone but Matthew...the one person in the group who didn't need it...who'd simply walked into the room, crawled onto a bed and crashed. Hard.

That he was hiding from the stress they were inflicting seemed evident...but Murphy...jabbing as delicately as he could into his sons inexpertly but resolutely held shields...suspected he was more busy than withdrawn.

This close to his twin...

So close.

They were almost there...halted and frustrated...the brother’s collective nerves even more overwrought by Bodhi’s refusal to tell them what...if anything...his twin had said...or if he'd even answered the phone. They hadn't heard him...but then they'd been out of the car...

Too much anxiety for anyone to really relax, they were still done in...as utterly spent as any three people could be...food and sleep. As easy as that. But when did even the best laid plans ever really work out?

\----------------------------------------------------  
He was lying in wait when Murphy got out of the shower, pouncing on him as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Murph, you have to eat!"

Murphy didn't miss a beat.

"You're not."

Connor, for the moment wrapped in a bedspread and shivering...though it wouldn't be long before he was back on the bathroom floor...couldn't muster the energy to punch his brother.

"Yeah, you're funny. I'm so fucking thirsty...Murphy you can't just skip it. You don't want to stop long enough to plug in then you gotta eat."

"No, I gotta leave my insides alone till they quiet down, Connor. This HURTS."

"What good are you gonna be when you pass out on their porch, Murph."

"About as good as you."

"Which brings me back to..."

"Oh my God! Shut up, both of you!"

Bodhi, still shower damp and working the tangles from his hair, silenced them both with the glare if not the words.

"You're in such a fucking rush to go invade people who never asked for your help and don't want it..."

He fell into a chair, threw an arm across his eyes...exhausted, disgusted, on the verge of tears.

"You don't even know why you're going or what you're doing when you get there. You're both sick...not that you care... that little boy in there..."

He jerked a thumb at the connecting door between their two rooms.

"...is almost completely shut down. You're really, REALLY fuckin him up...you don’t give a fuck about that either...you’re pulling me along and I'm absolutely in great shape to be running around the country...but fuck that, right...you just...declined to hear or understand me when I told you it can’t help and here I am... and you can't even pull it together enough to make sure you can stay on your feet and see whatever insanity you're dragging us along for to the end. I'm so sick of both of you. Just...get it together or I'm taking him and going home. You want to go ruin two people’s lives you can stagger on over there on your own. And the Saints, by the way, can fuck off."

"Bodhi...”

"Shut up. Connor, Matty wants to sleep with you. He's mad at Murphy and scared I'll die on him so listening to you throw up is, I guess, his best option. I know you can't eat...there's a bunch of Gatorade in there. Drink it, and don't use it won't stay down as an excuse. Sooner or later it will so drink it anyway."

"Are y'sendin me t'my room, then?"

Rueful amusement mingled with barely concealed threat, and Bodhi felt the first tingle of apprehension...that the twins were his friends by no means changed what they were, and this situation was urgent for them....and forced it away. If he thought they'd hurt him then he was on the wrong side.

"That's exactly what I'm doing. And put your inner serial killer away...you don't have the strength to use him."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

"Connor..."

He was just weary of it...so weary...it rang in his voice...in his final, helpless lack of words...and something in it penetrated Connor’s wall of urgency and offense...touched something the aggravation couldn't...and he felt something in him...he wasn't sure what... subside.

Wordless, he got up...taking the bedspread with him, reflecting with sudden hysterical amusement that nothing said assassin like a paisley blanket...and realized, suddenly, just how insanely tired he really was, how much he really needed to be out of the game, at least for now.

Even furiously, exhaustedly over them both...and god bless him for it...Bodhi was still looking out for them.

He glanced at Murphy...caught the trepidation...he was next and he knew it...touched Bodhi’s head as he passed him, surprised and grateful when his hand came up and held his for a moment.

Smiling a little, he went in the other room, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Don't worry, Murphy."

Bodhi, arm thrown back across his eyes, didn't even look at him.

"I'm not gonna yell at you. I'm too fucking tired.

Nodding despite the fact that Bodhi couldn't see him, knowing the very last thing the boy wanted was to hear his voice, Murphy stretched out on the bed, everything that he'd heard...the unspoken included...playing in his head, anxiety pulsing through him. He could feel it...high pitched and humming...running in his veins, tingling in his fingertips, keeping time with the pain in his middle...changing now, less ferocious, less tearing, more fluid...hot. Irritated rather than assaulted.

Still thinking he'd never relax, exhaustion did what nerves fought to prevent...he didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up untold hours later in the dark, warmth and soft breath beside him, fingers....not Connor’s, and the realization switched him into high alert in a second... entwined in his.

"Bodhi??"

The last thing in the world he would have expected....as angry with them as their friend was, he wouldn't have been at all surprised to find he'd crept out while they slept.

The hand holding his tightened and he felt the soft brush of hair on his face, realized just how near Bodhi was.

"What's...you ok?"

"I'm sorry."

Barely above a whisper, so close Murphy felt his words almost more clearly than he heard them.

"I couldn't sleep...cold. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

But he couldn't, could he. Not with him so close...and there was something in his voice...

Sighing a little, he turned to face him...feeling a painless little tug at his arm.

"What..."

Plugged in and running, more than halfway through the cycle.

"Did you do that? How long have I been asleep?"

"Maybe four hours. Connor’s asleep, too. You needed it, Murphy. The sleep and the fluids. I know you're in a hurry, but..."

"No...you’re right. I'm surprised you didn't just strangle me with the tubes...."

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know..."

"Y'know, Murphy..."

His voice broke and Murphy heard him take a breath...heard his struggle to keep himself together.

"I haven't...that's the first time I've heard my brothers voice...in close to ten years...I thought I'd probably never hear it again and I didn't really want to. I didn't want to miss him. I know. I know."

So much bitterness in those two words.

“You want to know what he said."

Murphy almost asked...almost agreed...flashing insight suddenly and with aching clarity...and searing shame...that to agree would break this boy’s heart. He'd asked so little of them...he wasn't asking now...but what he needed was diamond bright…so clear.

"No..."

He reached to touch his hair...his face...realizing again how much this boy loved them...and how they'd used him...were using him up...and that he expected nothing less even as he wished for them to love him back.

They did. Piss poor at showing it…but they did.

"No. I don't want to know what he said."

"What then?"

There were tears, heavy in his voice, and Murphy...resorting to the only comfort he knew how to give...threaded his fingers into his hair...stroked through silken strands so unlike Connor’s...

"I want to know you're ok."

"I'm not ok."

He caught Murphy’s hand, untangled it from his hair, held it...thumb tracing little circles at the base...

"Why did you make me come?"

"I don't want you to die."

That tiny stroking became abruptly, intensely erotic and he caught a breath...held it...fought the sensation. This wasn't Connor. It wasn't anyone he could justify. This was Bodhi...and he was miserable, frightened, jarred out of any comfort he may have had left...dying.

"I don't want you to die. I love you."

"You don't want your SON to die. This isn't about me, don't pretend it is."

"I don’t, you're right. But if it were just that we wouldn't have..."

"Forced me into the car? You can't save me, Murphy."

"Not me, no. And I DID hear what you said, I DID understand. We both did."

"Then..."

"I don't know. But you need to be with us."

The touch on his hand was driving him crazy ....his hand, for god sake, of all places...and he was almost painfully hard despite the grim conversation.

He started to pull his hand away, found it suddenly gripped tight.

"Don't...Murphy don't. Please..."

"Bodhi...you don't know what..."

"Yes I do."

"Then let go."

"Why?"

"Because....."

Why? Because why? He had to stop, had no choice...he had no answer. Because he didn't like it? He liked it...loved it...craved it.  
Because it didn’t feel good? Christ it felt SO good.  
Because he wanted it to stop? Wanted Bodhi to stop touching him? My god, he wanted Bodhi to touch him everywhere....

Sighing...shaking now with arousal, he reached across them both and switched on the lamp. If anything was going to go on he was going to have a visual...and Bodhi…damn him for always fucking getting it...knew why immediately.

"Wanna make sure I'm not gonna kick off in the middle, huh? I could say the same about you."

"Maybe I just want to see you..."

"That's not it..."

"Yes it is...."

"Not entirely."

"No. But God..."

He just looked at him for a minute, taking him in, wondering why the reticence when it came to this boy. He had no sexual hang-ups to speak of, and he and Connor both had been easily casual with pretty much everyone else...only Bodhi somehow declared off limits despite his obvious interest...and certainly it was mutual...and the very clear chemistry between them. 

Bodhi...well aware of exactly what Murphy was thinking...reached up and touched his neck, tracing the tattoo...sending a bolt through Murphy that shook him hard enough to hurt.

"You feel like it's wrong, don't you, Murphy. Only with me."

"I do. Like it would be taking massive advantage of you."

"You're a little mixed up."

His fingers tracing, repeating...as gentle as a breath, completely maddening...took Murphy’s breath for a second, sent a jolt of edgy heat so intense he suddenly thought he might come.

"God! Stop...stop. Jesus. How am I..." Christ, he couldn't breathe. "...mixed up?"

The touch on his neck stilled, and he could feel Bodhi trembling beside him...though his voice stayed even.

"It would be my reward for all of the ways you really do take massive advantage of me. But I won't beg you."

His gaze, clear eyed and direct, aimed no guilt, contained no longing, hinted at no reprisals.

"If you really want me to stop I will. You can just shut the light off and go back to sleep."

"No. I don't want you to stop."

His control...what little of it was left...disappeared completely as a wall...one he'd been largely unaware of... came down inside his head and everything he really felt for this boy came spilling out...a heavy, sweet rush of word and feeling redolent with threat and promise.

"I don’t want you to stop, I never want you to stop, I never have."

For a moment they stilled....froze...so close their lashes brushed...hovering on the edge of something brilliant...beautiful...dangerous. Back up and be safe...be sane. Step off and what then? Fall or fly....

"Murphy..."

His voice had never risen beyond that first waking whisper...didn't now.

"Do you understand? Do you know what you MEAN to me? Do you have any idea how much I love you? How much I always have?"

Murphy was shaking so hard he was afraid he couldn't answer, struggling to breathe, to think...caught up in a storm of insight, longing, desire....and a love like nothing he'd ever felt in his life.

He could barely speak.

"I do now."

"Do you?"

His voice rose a little, any and all sentiment jettisoned in a moment of clear reality.

"DO you? Why, Murphy! Straight up."

His hand closed on Murphy’s neck as the other tightened around his fingers.

"Because you're horny and I'm driving you nuts and the need to get laid is overriding your guilt? If that's it, it's fine. I've never wanted anything the way I want to get you off...the way I want to see it happen....oh my god..."

He stopped, laughing a little, shaking everywhere.

"I almost came, just now, just thinking about it. I'm right there, Murphy. You're not even touching me and I'm right there. So if that's it..."

"No."

He couldn't look away from those eyes...that warm, honey brown...ringed in glass bottle green and shading in even as he watched.

"No, that's not it."

"What then?"

But he wouldn't wait for him to say it...the challenge...and there was no denying that was what it was, it was right there between them... rose to his lips, spilled over.

"Do you love me?"

The answer was instantaneous, coming without thought, without editing.

"All the way...I think I always have."

Though he'd issued the challenge...and it was nothing so simple as a question asked, the repercussions would go far beyond any simple question asked and answered...he wasn't expecting the reply...didn't...couldn't, so completely had he already discounted it...for a moment...believe it, and experienced a brief...no more than a millisecond... blinding surge of hate so strong it verged on murderous.

There, flashing in his eyes, clear to Murphy....who didn't pull back, didn't even flinch....instead slipped his fingers back into that caramel hair, let it spill and glitter over his fingers, watched those beautiful eyes change completely to green...and felt his turn to ice...cursing himself but unable to stop it, realizing another first...that this thing was as involuntary as his pulse and he'd never be without it.

"Hate me for a liar if you will...you know better, though, don’t you. I more than love you. Both of us do. There’s nothing we wouldn't do for you, Bodhi...except let you go down without a fight...and even if you get up right now and leave that won't change."

The ice faded from his eyes and he saw Bodhi’s...golden green now...suddenly blow wide...black with the thinnest ring around the edges, as he answered.

"Then can we stop talking?"

They could...they would...but Murphy being Murphy, and never one to have anything he loved finish too fast...Connor till now the sole witness to Murphy’s need to savor things...wasn't about to touch him again...or be touched himself...until this crazed intensity faded and they'd both cooled down.

And for the life of him, he couldn't look away from those eyes.

"Did you know your eyes change color?"

"I...really, Murphy? Really?"

"Did you?"

"Yes. You're waiting for them to do something right now, aren't you."

"Waiting for the blind lust to go out of them."

"Why?"

"Do you really want this?"

"Yes! You..."

"Then you want it to last. Trust me. Y'know why you've always been off limits?"

"No. How're my eyes?"

"A little more sane. Because you're not just anyone. You're you. You're us."

"I know, Murphy. You call me brother. But you fuck your brother."

"Yeah, well...that's different."

But it wasn't, not really, and he'd had enough of the conversation, sliding effortlessly back into that beautiful, easy, intimate, eyelash to eyelash space, slipping a hand back through hair...this time pulling a little, Bodhi’s little gasp setting every nerve alight.

"Sweet Jesus..."

Barely audible, it ignited Bodhi...everything…pain, weakness, exhaustion forgotten...sadness expiated...nothing existed now but Murphy’s lips, soft on his...gentle...his every touch gentle and excruciatingly, maddeningly slow...even as his teeth bit...hard enough to make him moan, never hard enough to hurt...and his nails dug in...as his fingertips left molten little trails everywhere and his mouth kissed, licked, bit, sucked at his lips, throat, nipples...and lord, nobody had ever even touched them before...HE had never even touched them before and here was Murphy sucking them, licking them, BITING them...

"Oh my GOD Murphy, keep doing that..."

The sounds he made, alone, were almost enough to send Murphy over, and he kept it slow and sweet and stroking...stopping when he sensed Bodhi peaking...kissing him until he calmed down...feeling himself shaking apart as he waited for the kid to finally dare to touch him back...oh he was kissing him without reservation, licking and biting at his neck, pressed so tight against him it was a wonder either of them could breathe...but now that it was real, Murphy’s body hot and trembling against him...he was scared....and Murphy knew, loving him a little more for it every second.

He didn't push him...didn't rush him...didn’t let him rush himself to finish...no...he held him back...let him get used to the idea that this was real...this was happening.

He came to it soon enough, as Murphy had known he would...hesitant...unsure...and it occurred to Murphy to wonder, as he felt the first touch of nails in his back...and groaning at that touch, completely without control, kissing back hard...if Bodhi had ever done this...anything...before.

He didn't ask...he couldn't...that first hesitant touch setting of such an intense burst of arousal that the shudders running through him pulled him halfway off the bed and he couldn't take any more...couldn't wait any more.

"Bodhi..."

He took his hands, brought them to his chest, his nipples...

"C'mon...oh god, oh fuck..."

Words dissolving into moans as they both stopped thinking...and the world became a rising, spiraling heat of mouths on nipples, hands stroking between legs...the feel of each other...hot and hard and pulsing in time with their heartbeats, hands stroking...

"Slow. Slow..."

Murphy...making it last, drawing it out...making THEM last, even so turned on he couldn't see, so close to coming it hurt, he knew they had to go easy, both of them...if they didn’t want this to end in sickness and blood rather than release they had to go easy.

But ah…god...the kid was so good. So good.

"M'so close, Bodhi. So close."

"I am too..."

They were...trembling with it... throbbing dicks pressed tight together, moving just enough...just enough...keeping that brilliant, shattering ALMOST right there, rising and rising....

"Ah god Bodhi..."

Murphy’s voice was rough, blown, muffled in Bodhi’s neck...the heat of his breath just another delicious torment..."god I want to fuck you so bad..."

"I want you to. I need you to..."

His teeth sank into Murphy’s neck, bringing hot, stabbing, incredible pain, making him gasp and groan, pulling him right to the edge.

He pulled back, shaking, pulled completely away.

"Don't do that again, then, or I'm done. Jesus...I might be anyway..."

He was that close...felt it starting to spiral out...forced it back....started to get up and realized he couldn't...plugged in and tethered.

"Bodhi, go…go get that backpack."

He was gone and back faster than Murphy could have thought possible, thrusting it at him with greedy desperation, making him smile.

"Damp down, there. You don't even know what I want this for. What if I just want a smoke?"

"The way you're shaking you'd set yourself on fire. Murphy..."

"I know, I know, I just need a second..."

He dug into the bag, clearly after something, batting Bodhi’s hand away from him. "No, no, no, no DON'T touch me, don't say anything...I'm so close you wouldn't believe it...Jesus..."

He averted his eyes, bit hard into his lip, bringing blood...bringing pain enough to hold back.

"I can't even LOOK at you. Christ alive..."

"Well gimme a smoke then."

"N'y'not going to have time for that."

His hand closed on something, pulled it out, kept it covered as he leaned back in and kissed him, hissing a little as he stepped to the edge again.

"Are you sure?"

"Jesus, god, yes I'm sure..."

"We gotta go real easy, Bodhi. Real easy."

"I know, Murphy, I know. I never...can we do this like this? So I can still see you?"

"Oh...yes. Yes. You're really sure?"

He kissed him...slow and sweet...slipped a hand around him, stroked...

"I can bring you like this..."

"Don't. I'm sure. I'm a little scared..."

"Sshhh..."

He pushed him back, locked onto his eyes...mixed and lovely and yes...just a little scared...stroked his hair, his face, his hands...kissing him back into trembles, fingers playing idly with a nipple, loving his little moans and gasps, reached down for a second, fiddling with something, reached to stroke him with a hand warm now, coated thick and soft and slippery, throbbing himself at Bodhi’s sudden writhing gasp..."oh my GOD...."

"Here..."

He put something in his hand...thick and sticky.

"What is that?"

"Vaseline."

"Oh my god.."

He didn't hesitate, reached down for Murphy, stroked it on...throbbing so hard he could almost hear it.

He didn't have to say anything. Murphy...unbearably tender now, feather touches everywhere, kisses on his eyes, his face....rubbing a nipple between one finger and thumb, Bodhi’s dick with the other...taking him apart.

"Look at me, now…"

He took his face, gentle and sweet, turned it to his own, trapped his eyes.

"Slow now, Bodhi. Slow..."

His fingers, slippery...sticky...worked their way in...one at a time...watching his face, free hand stroking, stroking...

"Stop, Murphy, you'll make me come."

"You ready? You ok?"

"God yes."

"Just look at me, ok? I have to see you...oh, god."

He thought, for a second, he'd just come the second he touched him, held back, pushed in...slow...slippery...easy...slid in with a gasp, shudders tearing through him...felt Bodhi’s arms slip around him, holding on.

"Oh...oh fuck. Oh fuck...."

He thrust once...heard Bodhi’s moan max out, twice...it felt so good he grayed out a little...and then Bodhi had him, gripped tight, iron strong, eyes immensely black...

"Stay inside, Murphy! Oh god, hold on...stay inside!"

He held on...thrusting in slow without ever once pulling back...pushing in, and in, and in....slow...hard...Bodhi’s cries taking him to the edge...and over....

"Bodhi....oh my fucking sweet god!"

"Come, Murphy. Come..."

He came and came hard...felt it tip Bodhi over...

"Oh, fuck, oh Murphy...Christ I'm coming! I'm coming from everywhere..."

...and came again, sudden, viciously hard, almost painful....rode it as it wound into threads that seemed to pull from his center...understanding Bodhi now...he, too, was coming from everywhere and oh god, Bodhi was still coming...reaching for him, pulling him down, coming, now, pressed between them...it seemed infinite...waves of pleasure, diminishing, an outgoing tide, breath coming easier, shakes easing.

They couldn't speak, either of them...utterly spent, limp and wound into each other, trying to breath, to come down, to exist after something like that.

"My god...Bodhi. I can't believe what I've been saying no to all this time."

"I didn't know or I'd have completely used it to break your resistance"

Sated now, he looked over at him, grinning when he saw Murphy fix on his eyes again.

"There you go again with my eyes. I can't believe you never noticed that before now."

"I never did. It's so fucking beautiful."

"Gavin’s are the same."

It was a gift, and he knew it, accepted it, slid in close and comfortable.

"You want to see him, now."

"I guess I do, yeah."

"Tomorrow....except...Connor for sure hasn't had any sleep."

"He was asleep when I left him..."

"Aaaand there was no way he was sleeping through that."

"Oh for...really? You might have mentioned that, don’t you think?"

"I...guess I didn’t think of it at all. I mean...why would I?"

"Murphy...finding out a way to disable that fucking bat signal just might be what keeps me alive."


	97. Chapter 97

"Please just kill me, Murph. Please...”

He swiped sweat and tears from his eyes.... trying not to just break down and cry like a child...he'd failed at that a few times already, clinging to Murphy and sobbing... this sickness in him a living thing, voracious and clawing through him...barely catching a breath before it hit again and he coughed and gagged, brought up sticky spit...the tiny sips of Gatorade he'd been forcing down coming right back up again.

Murphy...completely at a loss...couldn't do much but sit with him, rub his back, try to comfort…

"It's gonna pass, Conn. You're ok..."

But it wasn't, and Connor was about as far from ok as Murphy had ever seen him. 

It had been a miserable few hours...Connor...who'd thought he was past the worst of it abruptly yanked from a sound sleep already retching, staggering blind to the toilet....hours now stumbling, dizzy and confused between bed and the bathroom floor...exhausted enough not to care if he messed up the bed, fastidious instinct driving him to his feet and back into the bathroom every time the nausea surged, alternately dissolving into miserable tears and demanding death.

It would have almost been funny if he hadn't meant it.

Or maybe not...there had been a couple of times…and here it came again...that he just couldn't catch his breath, his lips going alarmingly blue, panic flooding down the line.

"I know, Connor....it's bad. It's gonna stop though..."

He kissed his head, knew he wasn't helping much...petting and soothing weren't much good when you couldn't catch a break long enough to breathe.

On top of Connors misery, his own...which had largely disappeared overnight...was coming back...cramps like huge, squeezing fists rolling through him, making him sweat...making him shiver....making him WEAK, and now that he thought about it, Conn had mentioned that, too, that he'd thought the worst had passed...he'd fallen asleep.... until the crash came and he woke up already sick, all the strength running out of his body....and too tired to breathe.

All of the strength....

Too tired to breathe...

Understanding...so near... shimmering and indistinct somewhere behind his mind. Slippery, elusive...he couldn’t avoid the thought that if he felt better he'd already know.

Already did know.

The definition hid...but their next course screamed into his brain.

"We have to go. Sick or not, we have to go."

"How, brother?"

Connor, head resting on an arm, didn't bother even to look up.

"Who's gonna drive? Second thought, let it be me. Won't be long till I hit a nice big truck..."

"Stop that. Conn, we..."

"Have to get closer, I know, you're all but yellin it at me. Y'happen t'know why?"

"No. Yes. Yes I know, I just can't..."

"Get to it."

He shut his eyes, and Murphy felt him drifting, slipping into something well beyond exhaustion.

"Death itself..."

"No, Conn...you're not dying."

"I'd like to know why not...."

"Murphy..."

Bodhi, soft and serious in the doorway, Murphy’s phone in his hand.

"Gavin...you need to talk to him."

His face said everything, said it all: don't ask, don't argue, don't negotiate...just take the phone.

Nodding...leaning on Connor a little to get to his feet...weaker by the minute...he took the phone, thumbing the speaker on, as he headed into the bedroom...eyeing their bags...packed and stacked by the door, Matthew perched atop the pile, listlessly toying with one of their tablets...as he braced for a conversation he knew neither of them wanted.

"Gavin? If you're there, you're on speaker."

"Hi, Murphy."

Chills ran through him at the voice ... dream merged with reality...the fear that prickled at him now more deeply primitive...visceral...and flat out creepier than any he'd ever known. This was real.

"Hi. What is it."

"I'm taking him to the ER. We're on the road now. If you really think bringing all of you together can help him..."

"I don't think it. I know it."

"Hurry, then. Get here. And yes, he can hear you."

"We're trying."

"Quit trying and do it. I don’t want you to come, Murphy, make no mistake. Not any of you. If I thought he'd survive we'd be gone before you could get here. But if you can help him..."

"You said he can hear us."

"He knows he's dying. He's the one telling me you can save him. He also tells me you were coming...but you've stopped."

Murphy’s peripheral sight caught Connor, waxy faced...ashen...struggling into his shoes, fingers seemingly too weak for the task.

Connor...three dimensional as the rest of the world went flat.

"Why did you stop? You CANT stop! He..."

"We're all sick. Nobody..."

"He can't BREATHE Murphy. He was better for a while...last night though he just...crashed. He's been going back and forth but now...it's like he's..."

"Drowning."

There, Connor had the shoes. Good.

It occurred to him...a detached and thoroughly horrific realization... the sensation running through him a dreamy, nightmare terror, numbing his limbs, pulling at his consciousness...that he was slipping...disconnecting...losing the world....Connor the only thing in the room that looked real. Even his son...weirdly stationed as he was, on their bags, had taken on a gargoyle aspect...loathsome and terrifying.

He was suddenly sure he was going to bolt...

"Murphy!"

The voice from the phone sounded dead...rotting...grinning...and he felt his fingers become nerveless and numb...

'Murphy'

Connor, soothing, stroking...in his head where he belonged....

'Easy brother, don't lose it now.'

He pulled in a breath that felt like glass, forced himself to focus.

"I'm still here. What do you need."

"I need you to understand how sick he is. And he..."

His voice broke, and the breath Murphy heard him drag in sounded too ragged, too harsh...too close to a scream.

"...he has to survive this. HAS to. You have to hurry, and I don't care how sick you are."

"I already know."

"Then get here! However you have to! I already sent you our address."

The phone beeped in his ear and a little of the nightmare left the room, the wholly schizophrenic sensation of slippage fading, allowing the solid world to reestablish.

He looked up at Bodhi....quiet and watchful as always.

"It's not just my son who won't make it if this goes any more balls up, is it, Bodhi."

"No."

"Why? Why does it matter so much? So much that he doesn't think he can live, if Cody dies?"

"He loves him, what do you think?"

"It's a lot more than that. I could feel it...like...."

Bodhi’s finger touched his lips...the intimacy of the gesture stopping his words as cleanly as a slap.

"I know what it feels like. Like millions of little needles, stabbing at him..."

His voice stayed quiet, but his hand closed on Murphy’s, painfully tight, belying the soft tone and he felt tiny bones grind together...stayed still...allowed it completely and let him go on.

"... millions of hairs across his throat, millions of teeth...all waiting for your son to die so they can shred his will to survive, destroy him from the inside out until he can't exist anymore...so this hell he lives in can eat him alive. It’s the built in self-destruct...the failsafe to the program. It’s the same thing that happens to me every single time the two of you are in trouble. It's the same thing that's happening to me right now."

He let go, stood up, pulled Murphy with him, message clear: conversation over.

"Come on. We have a bus to catch."

"A BUS?! What..."

He let himself be shoved toward the door, grabbing his bag, Matthews, and Matthews hand on absolute auto pilot, too surprised at what he was being told to realize he was even moving.

"None of us can drive. The megabus to New Orleans picks up across the parking lot. All those people standing around with luggage? There. Come on."

"MEGAbus?"

"Yeah. You'll see. It's a little ghetto but it'll get us there. You ok on your own?"

"What, to get over there? Yeah, I'm good."

"You're lying out your ass, but fine. Get Mat....oh y'already got him. Connor...call on your inner superhero and stay standing. I can help you a little but not much. And whatever you do, don't throw up till you're on the bus and it's moving."

"That sounds a little backward..."

"They might not let you get on if they think you're sick. Or drunk. Once we're moving just tell 'em you're carsick. I put a bunch of those airsick bags in Murphy’s backpack on the plane so once you're in a seat you're golden."

"Strange idea of golden..."

"It is what it is, Connor."

He slung both their bags over his shoulder, glanced back into the room...the automatic belongings sweep of the experienced traveler...and followed them out into sun and scorching air.

"Fuck, it’s hot. I feel like I'm in a giant convection oven."

"It is that. Don't we need tickets or..."

"Did it all online. Listen to me...it's only about three, three and a half hours...there's a bathroom on the bus, Murphy, by the way...and I already have someone picking us up on the other end. I hate to do it...you guys have been right out there in people’s faces for fuck...48 hours. I'm hoping me and Matty might ruin any bells you might ring but...fucking around with cabs in New Orleans is really more than I can handle right now."

Murphy, thinking that if anyone were channeling his inner superhero right now it was Bodhi...poor Connor looked about to pass out...shook his head in impressed wonder.

"You just happen to know someone in New Orleans who can pick us up."

"I know someone in every major city, Murphy. Several someone’s. What do you think I've been doing my whole life? I don't sit in a closet and tap keys...no offense Connor..."

"Oh, none taken..."

The faintness of his voice was heavily laced with humor, threads of vitality Murphy could see in his peculiar way, but he felt a little jolt of alarm...his twin sounded so weak, so breathless...

"D'you really think anyone's made us?"

"No. I don't...you two really don't resemble yourselves much anymore...you're not moving in any established pattern...and as far as anyone knows Murphy's dead."

"You killed me?!"

"Quite a while ago. Did we not tell you?"

"You might have? Honestly, it sounds familiar but..."

"Probably we didn't. I really get your frustration, now, by the way. With never being filled in."

"Sucks, doesn't it!" 

"In a really infuriating way, too. As for your nonexistence....don’t consider it an absolute. There are always nonbelievers out there. I think we're ok though. Matty...how you holdin up?"

"I'm fine."

"You're awful quiet. BEEN awful quiet."

"Well this isn't FUN, Bodhi."

"No, I know it's not. If..."

"I don’t wanna talk."

Murphy...about to cuff him for the tone...caught something suddenly, faint, hidden behind an inexpert wall of static that wavered, just a bit, with the distraction of speaking...and he stilled his hand, focused. Careful. Stealth mode inside his sons mind....and there it was. What he'd already known but couldn't put his finger on.

He disengaged, glanced at Connor, saw his eyes widen in understanding...and darken in anger...touched his mind with a flag of caution...'Let it be, brother. For now'...and felt his reluctant agreement. He'd go along...for now.

That resolve was tested, sooner rather than later, when the bus...an enormous double decker entirely deserving of its name...finally made the interstate and picked up speed, the upper level seeming to rock and lurch like a boat in high seas.

Carsickness now no lie, added to Connors existing instability it was very nearly more than he was willing...or for that matter, able...to tolerate. One glance at Murphy...staggering his way back from the bathroom, again, grabbing anything that didn't move as the bus changed lanes with crazed abandon, threatening to knock him off his feet with every mad lurch...tore at his patience. His brother’s pallor didn't help much. The ride wasn't doing him a damn bit of good.

Murphy saw his eyes darken, knew he'd about had it, and shook his head, falling into the seat beside him and yanking one of the airsick bags out of his hand...shooting a glare and a finger at the man across the aisle who...thoroughly fed up with listening to Connor gagging his way through the ride...had seen Murphy grab a bag and snapped "Are you fucking kidding me? You too?"

His sentiment was not unshared by the rest of the unfortunates in their immediate vicinity. They'd been on the bus just over an hour and in addition to the discomfort Connor was causing, the bathroom had ceased being community property...completely monopolized by Murphy, the hell with everybody else... and the grumbling had become extreme.

That there wasn't a drop of empathy among them had worked Murphy’s nerves immediately, and he'd remarked, early, sotto voice to Bodhi "These are the people we've been protecting all this time. Bunch of assholes, shoulda let people shoot 'em"

Struggling not to laugh...well used to public travel and the singularly self-centered attitudes involved...Bodhi had hushed him and waved him off, wanting nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the ride. While he wasn't anywhere near as miserable as the twins were, he was definitely feeling the recent blood loss...more exhausted than he could even begin to remember... and a sick, thumping headache had set up residence inside his skull.

Now, though, a whispered argument...well on its way to a fight...between the brothers dragged him from the thin doze he'd managed and he opened his eyes just in time to see Murphy flip off the man across the aisle.

"Don't..."

He swatted Murphy’s hand...hard enough to sting, reflecting as he pulled it back with a yelp, that this was the man who'd run halfway across Boston with his guts hanging out.

Hard to believe, really.

"...fucking do that. You wouldn't want to ride next to you either. What're you fighting about."

Connor...alarmingly whey faced...turned to look at him, eliciting a wince and a huge wave of sympathy. He really was sick.

"S' not a fight. He just won't see sense."

"About what? Conn, maybe you should eat some crackers or sugar or something. If it’s the bus..."

"Oh, it's the bus, but nothing's about to help because it wouldn't BE the bus if…"

"Connor, shut up!"

Murphy's hiss veritably dripped venom, not impressing Connor in the least.

"...it weren't for the underlying cause, and I'm not talking about the plane or the food, either."

"What cause, then? Murphy, let him fucking talk."

"It's his children."

"His..."

"I'm not doing anything!"

Matthew, paying far more attention than they'd realized, broke in with furious...and honest...indignation.

"How is it my fault!"

"Oh, but y'are doing something. Y'..."

"Connor STOP!"

Murphy’s words...lit with stark terror rather than anger...cut him off, and he fell back with a scowl and a sigh, too tired for it.

"Explain it then, brother. Explain it to them. Tell your son what he's doing."

"I'm not doing ANYTHING! Murphy! He's crazy!"

Murphy heard Bodhi’s barely repressed snort of laughter and for one blind, rage filled second wanted to punch him...forced it down and turned to him, seething, struggling for some semblance of calm.

"It's not a damn bit funny, and since y'don't know yet what's goin on here I'd suggest y'shut it before I shut it for you."

So much for calm. Not that Bodhi was much bothered.

"What is it you think he's doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, I'm SITTING RIGHT HERE. You can SEE me."

"Yes, we can see you. Murphy?"

Feeling more than slightly ganged up on, three sets of eyes squarely on him and no idea in the world how it had come to be all on him when he hadn't bought it up in the first place, Murphy was almost happy when the bus chose that moment to engage in one of its hair raising, stomach turning lane lurches, sending a wave of seasickness through him and erasing any inclination he may have had to explain.

"You can all just shut up..."

Mumbled, as they were, into a bag, the content of his words might not have been clear...but the intention shone like crystal.

Conversation over.

 

He'd slipped into a weird little micro sleep...dreaming oddities, mostly awake and unable to relax enough to really doze off, tension building...tightening in him like a wire.

They were close, now. So close.  
What might be giving way rapidly to what was...and what would that be? Bodhi’s brother. His son. Help...or ruin? He didn't know, especially not now.

And damn Connor for the fool he was he'd opened the door to blame, now...to guilt and confusion. ..with that comment of his, blatantly accusing...

He felt his brother’s wordless apology and brushed it off...easy to apologize now that he felt better. They both did, and what did that mean?

New to him, the situation had become obsessional and he couldn't stop worrying at it.

That his sons were locking together...linking as inevitably and indelibly as he and Connor...was absolute and irrefutable. The closer they got in space, the more intricate the knot, the closer in soul, mind...and evidently in body. His and Connors inability to heal, their creeping weakness....proof beyond doubt that his boys had linked and were locked and bound in that same mutual sustain that had marked the twins lives and been both curse and blessing for them both.

But his boys were little. Separated. Inexperienced.

They ran on instinct, the most powerful of which was survival. Linking...Cody. In extremis. Locked in and pulling from Matthew just to stay alive. Matthew, in that heavy, coma like sleep...depleted. Linked to Murphy... and through him, Connor.... pulling from them when his strength gave out and ordinarily Murphy thought that wouldn't have hurt them at all. They likely wouldn't have even noticed.

But they'd already been sick, the both of them. With no reserves to spare, the added drain...and why minimize it, the kids were siphoning them like a couple of little vampires...had knocked them right off their feet.

They could stop it, he knew. When he'd blocked Matthew during his time with Bodhi...apparently cutting him off from Connor, and who knew it worked that  
way...they'd both started to feel better. And Cody had crashed.

"Not enough to keep him going with just Matty..."

He saw Bodhi flash him a look...realized he'd spoken aloud and waved him off.

If that had been the case, though, Matty would have faded too...wouldn't he? Had he blocked his twin? In his and Connors experience, the well twin couldn't. Both of them had tried on occasion, both had failed. For them, the only one who could break that particular connection was the sick one. Was that some physical law? Only in their minds? He didn't know. Had Cody shut down the link? Did he know it existed and could be manipulated? Or was it instinct? Had he sensed the lack of resources and just stopped tapping in?

The drain had begun again as soon as Murphy had allowed his son...sons, now, it seemed...to click back in, and he and Connor had crashed and burned with frightening rapidity...though from what Gavin had said, Cody hadn't rallied much.

"Probably wasn't enough there..."

Out loud again...damn.

And what now? They were both better. Half an hour out of New Orleans, now, and his pain was gone. Connor was sound asleep.

Was it simple proximity making everything stronger? Had the boys disconnected? He had no sense of Cody...but he never had. Tapping into Matthew didn't tell him much other than he had no feelings that his twin was gone...but he had none that he was there, either. Everything he did he did on instinct, including trying...and failing...to blind Murphy to what he was doing.

Hide your strength...hide your weakness.

"Christ, what ARE we?"

And what did it mean that they were powering back up?

Only two potentialities immediately presented themselves to him.

Either his absent son was well enough to stand on his own...unlikely given the gravity of his condition just a few hours ago.

Leaving only the question that screeched through his nerves, fired his anxiety...broke his heart even to consider.

Had his other child died?


	98. Chapter 98

He'd caught Connor’s pain halfway back to the house, at first just a tingle of annoyance linked with a brief, bright pain...escalating with frightening rapidity into an excruciating burn of outright panic.

"How much further, Gavin? Somethings wrong with Connor but he's too freaked for me to see what it is."

"Ten minutes, maybe."

It'd been all he could do to wait until the car was stopped, to hold himself back while Gavin lifted Cody...still too groggy from the sedatives that had knocked him out of contact to stand...out of the back seat and settled him over his shoulder.

"You got him ok?"

"Yeah, Murphy. We've been through this before, us."

"He's dripping wet..."

"Sweat. Purging all that fluid. Go on, I know you're worried about Connor."

He found him crouched over the toilet in the little back bathroom, clutching his chest in pain and panic, both gagging and wheezing.

"Connor, Jesus, what the fuck happened?!"

He was next to him in a heartbeat, reaching into his head even as his arms went around him, startling as small arms slipped around him in turn and Matthews’s voice came, soft in his ear.

"He got stung. I tried to tell him to put tape on it but he said he had to be sick."

"Stung?"

"Yeah. Me too, look."

He held out his hand, thumb and forefinger extended, and Murphy saw both digits were welted and blistered.

"I put tape on it and washed my hands and it only hurts a little now, but he got a lot of stings. Look..."

He touched the back of Connor’s neck, where a similar red welt splayed out, and Murphy, horrified, followed it to a huge swatch of red that spread from the back of his neck to his shoulder, a scattered run of red welts on his arm, two more on his leg, the whole mess blistered and angry.

"What the...Connor what the fuck...."

"He ok?"

Gavin stopped short, staring at Matthew with disbelief in his eyes, forcibly tearing his eyes away to look at Connor.

"No, Matty says he got stung. Look at his neck. And his arm."

"Ooh...I guess the fuck he did. Connor!"

He squatted down next to Murphy, rather unceremoniously shoving him aside.

"Hey, look at me. Can you talk?"

"Who the fuck're you?"

The words were slurred and they both saw his lips had begun to swell.

"That's not good. I'm Gavin. Hang in a minute, we're gonna take care of this."

"You want this?"

Matty, holding out a roll of duct tape, eyeing Gavin cautiously but with far less suspicion than Murphy had imagined.

"Yeah, buddy, how'd you know about this? Far as I know the pillars don't sting up in Boston."

"They don't! I just knew."

"You want to show Murphy what to do while I go get some medicine for him?"

"Uh huh."

"Be right back."

"Murphy, who is that guy?"

"That's Gavin. He's Bodhi's brother. This is his house. What are we supposed to do with that?"

"Oh, you gotta put tape on the red spots. Look."

He tore off a piece, pressed it to the welt on Connor’s neck and tore it off, eliciting a flinch and a growl from Connor.

"See? Hairs on the tape. They're all stingers, you gotta get 'em off him or they keep on stinging."

"Jesus. How did you know this?"

"I just did. As soon as it stung me I knew. You have to put tape on it and pull off the stingers."

Murphy, who suddenly had a very good idea where Matthew had come by the information, found himself hard pressed not to smile.

He took the tape, followed suit, directing his words to Matty while his mind stroked Connor’s.

"What stung him, Matty?"

"That thing."

He pointed to the corner of the room, where an innocent looking little ball of beige fur made its way up the wall.

"I guess it's a caterpillar. It fell on him and he yelled and tried to get it off and it just kept landing on him in more places. Look at his hand, it's really bad."

It was, swollen to a grotesque degree that put Murphy in mind of a roadrunner cartoon.

"Con, gimme your hand."

He held it out, obediently enough, flinching at every press of the tape.

"Murph..."

"I know."

"How's he doin?"

Gavin, balancing assorted towels and cups.

"You done with the tape? Here Murphy, hold onto this."

He handed him a cup of something white and knelt back down.

"Get your shirt off Connor."

He peeled paper strips from something in his hand, flashing annoyance when he looked up and Connor’s shirt was untouched.

"Get your…oh for god sake. C'mon, let go of your chest, you're not helping yourself any, feels real tight huh?"

"Yeah."

"Like you can't breathe or just tight?"

"Just tight. But there's this...."

His gesture was indefinable, and though he communicated the idea of rampant adrenaline directly to Murphy, it didn't do much for Gavin.

"Get your arms up so we can get your shirt off. You done throwing up you think?"

Connor shook his head.

"Haven't, just..."

"Just feelin like it? Yeah it's a lot of stings and that little guy…sometimes even one can make people pretty sick."

He tossed Connor’s shirt into the corner and without further comment slapped the patch he'd been peeling onto the bare skin on the side of his neck, taking the tape from Matty and hitting a few more red areas that had been covered.

"This'll help, just give it a few minutes and try to breathe."

"What was that?"

"Antihistamine patch. The experts will tell you they don't help against pillar stings but believe me, they do. Just so you know, though, if that swelling in his mouth doesn't go down real soon I'm calling 911. This is a little like having a million bee stings, y'know."

"He's not allergic or anything."

"That's good, but even so, it's a fuckload of stings. Matty, do me a favor?"

"What."

"Go in the kitchen and get a piece of paper, slide it under that guy and take him outside?"

"You want me to squish him?"

"No, just let him go. He doesn't mean to sting people. He has all those stinging hairs so birds won’t eat him, and he can't do anything about it when people touch him. Just take him outside."

"Ok."

"Let me know if you see any more out there."

"Should he go anywhere near that thing?"

"Long as he doesn't touch it again...and he looks like a smart kid, I don't think he will...he'll be fine. Connor, how you feelin? Look at me...."

He nodded in satisfaction.

"Looks better already. Feel easier to breathe?"

Connor started to answer, taking a deeper breath than he'd been able to for a few minutes, feeling the muscles in his chest start to relax...switching gears in an instant, grabbing for the toilet as new nausea slammed into him, not just gagging this time.

"Aw, yeah, I didn't want to mention that might still happen. It'll wear off quick though, now. Murphy, you hang with him. When this quits get him in the shower. Make sure he soaps all those red spots up real good and then when he gets out put some of this on them."

He indicated the cup of white liquid.

"It's just baking soda and water but it'll take the sting and itch out."

He stood up, looked down at Connor, struggling to catch his breath again.

"Sorry, Connor. Hell of a welcome to New Orleans."

He turned to Murphy.

"I'm gonna go check on Cody and find my brother. He'll be ok, now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah…well…pretty sure. Matty, you get that guy outside?"

"Uh huh. There's a bunch more of him out there."

"Are there? They like those wild rose bushes. Guess we better stay off the side porch till they're all in cocoons."

"They do cocoons?"

"Uh huh. They turn into moths. Where's Bodhi at, do you know?"

"He's asleep in that room with the fish tanks. How come you look so much like him?"

"We're twins."

"So're they."

He jerked a thumb at Connor and Murphy.

"They don't look alike."

"No, they really don't. There's different kinds of twins. Some don't look much alike, some look exactly alike. Me and Bodhi, we look exactly alike. Used to fool people all the time."

He hesitated in the doorway, glanced back at Murphy, uneasy.

"Did you tell him about Cody?"

"We did."

He saw the question in Gavin’s eyes and nodded, knowing he'd have his hands full with Connor for a while.

"Go on ahead."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"Matthew. C'mon with me, there's someone else here you'll want to meet."

He watched them go, felt Connor tap his hand.

"What."

"You sure..."

He was still panting a little, breathing out the last of the nausea and the crazy anxiety that had hit him like a brick.

"You should let that happen without you?"

"I'm not sure of anything. Are you ok?"

"I think so. Thought for a few minutes there I was gonna die, though."

He felt the laugh in Murphy’s mind and scowled.

"What's funny about that if I might ask?"

"Did you see what stung you?"

"No."

"It looked like a little piece of dirty cotton. I just don't know if I could have maintained any respect for you if that was what did you in."

Ignoring Connor’s scowl he climbed to his feet and extended a hand to Connor.

"C'mon, Gavin says you gotta shower off the rest of the stingers and venom and shit."

"That was him I was talking to, huh? What about the...what about Cody?"

"He's here. He's ok. He dropped off contact because they knocked him silly with meds. He was out cold when I got there but they'd already decided to release him."

"I thought he was…"

"He was. Gavin said he was as close to death as he'd ever seen him, and he really didn't think we'd make it here in time. Said he was all blown up with fluid, kidneys weren't working, lungs were all filled up....like Matty was you remember."

"I do."

"When he told me to just go straight there it was because he didn't think there was time for me to come here first. He said....Jesus Con, he's a hell of a sweet guy, I guess we should have known he would be. He said he didn't want me to never get to see him alive. Said that even though he didn't want me to come in and ruin their lives, he was my son and I should at least get to meet him while he was still breathing."

"Doesn't sound so sweet to me, Murph."

He stepped into the shower, laughing at the trickle from the shower head.

"This is it, huh? I'm so glad we don't live down here."

"It didn't come out bitter when he said it, Con. He was just worried I'd get there too late. I guess right before I walked in though, he started to just spill all that fluid. He was sweating so bad it was running onto the floor. They had a pee bag y'know, and it had been empty. His kidneys weren't working. It filled up and overflowed in just a few minutes. Gotta tell you though, it was pretty fucking scary. When I got there...he was still completely out, but he was throwing up all kinds of just clear fluid...they were holding him sort of tilted upside down so he wouldn't choke on it, it looked like he was drowning. I thought that was it, y'know, I was watching him die, but then Gavin fucking HUGGED me Con, and he was so relieved..."

He sighed a little, shaking his head.

"Everything stabilized in like…an hour. Gavin's saying it was me, but it wasn't me, Con..."

"No, it was Matty."

"Definitely was. He got that about the tape right from Cody. They're completely linked up. And they're completely gone from me."

"Aye, me too, brother. I felt 'em go. Did you notice with Matty, or were you too busy worrying over me?"

"Notice what?"

"Never mind. I'll let you come to it. Can I get out now?"

"Yeah, I'll go get you some clothes. Gavin left a towel."

He got a little lost, trying to find his way back to the room that held their things, the rooms opening off rooms opening off rooms a little more disorienting than a straight shot of a house should have been, and he realized just how exhausted he was, remarking to Connor on his return with more than a little wry amusement.

"I just got lost in a shotgun house. I think it might be time to wrap the day."

"I'm more than with you there, brother. So Murph."

"Yeah?"

"You did it."

"Did what?"

"Made it happen. We're all here. All together. All three sets of twins. And look at everything you fought through to get here."

"Think it'll be worth it?"

"Murphy, of course it will."

"Yeah well…we'll see. C'mon, let’s find out if there's someplace for us to sleep around here."


	99. Chapter 99

They’d finally wound down the day, and while it couldn’t be said that everyone was relaxed, it could at least be stated with a fair degree of accuracy that everyone was relatively ok.

Bodhi, headachy, frighteningly confused, and more than a little done in, had crashed in Gavin’s loft, sprawled with every degree of comfort on the old futon mattress under the window and down for every conceivable count.

They’d been worried about the confusion until Matthew, veteran Bodhi resident that he was, spoke up with a nonchalance that both comforted and alarmed.

“He’s always like that at night. He’ll be ok when he wakes up.”

That they’d want to know more was a given, but tonight they were all so tired...and his sleep was easy and comfortable, breathing deep and even and untroubled.

Gavin had looked in on him a few times, shaking his head in some unreadable neutral.

“He’s alright. For now. I wouldn’t worry too much just yet.

Connor, more or less over his run in with the caterpillar, still itching and irritated by his blistered hand and wincing as the muscles in his chest became more sore as the night wore on, counted himself lucky to have escaped certain death at the hands of the little beast, amazed when Matthew took him to the porch door and showed him what had taken him down.

“That little thing?”

The Irish in him had come on strong and showed no hint of departing, something that amused Matthew no end, and alarmed Murphy slightly. He only did it when he was done.

“Yeah, Connor, but it doesn’t matter that he’s little cuz EVERY ONE OF THOSE HAIRS is a stinger! You got stung a million times!”

“Maybe not a million, Matty. But thanks for lessening the demasculinization going on here.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

He’d taken himself, clad in old sweats and an older t-shirt, barefoot to the front porch, collapsing in Gavin’s rocker with a beer and a pack of smokes, trying to put his head together and when Murphy checked on him a little later he was asleep.

“Think he’s ok out there?”

“He’s fine. Nobody will bother him. And there’s no pillars out there.”

“That was pretty fucking awful, Gavin.”

“They are, but really once you know they’re around y’don’t really get stung. He won’t again I’ll lay you odds.”

“You got that right, he’ll probably avoid anything that even looks like a caterpillar for the rest of his life. Gavin...this place.”

“What, New Orleans?”

“No. No. Your place. This room…”

His gaze swept the kitchen, heart and soul of Gavin’s house, clearly the room they lived in most of the time. It was old, and a Bywater kitchen, meaning it had no cabinets to speak of, and no counters, but it was huge and beautiful, floor to ceiling windows giving out onto the infamous side gallery of the caterpillars, and an overgrown jungle of a garden. Crammed with every single conceivable type of shelf, table and stand, at first it looked untenable...only later revealing itself to be so extremely user friendly it was almost laughable with everything immediately where it’s residents needed and unconfined by any set design.

Murphy had quickly fallen in love with the room, but it was less its setup than its contents.

He’d spent more than an hour just looking, taking it in... a fridge full of photos of Gavin, Cody and an unbelievable assortment of friends, all happy, silly, pretty, touching. He found T ball schedules, summer camp equipment lists, school supply lists, sleepover reminders and so many photos of them at the beach it hurt his heart to think that what was normal for them was something Matthew had never seen.

“This is your lives, right here, isn’t it?”

“Well...kind of, yeah. I mean…some of it. There’s more than just this.”

He looked nervous, as if he thought Murphy might not approve.

“This is...so much, Gavin. So much. Matty...he doesn’t’ have half this. He doesn’t have any of it. He doesn’t have FRIENDS. Cody’s probably the first kid he’s ever seen his own age. Or at all for all I know. He doesn’t go to school. He’s supposed to but nobody can seem to get it together to send him, but since the city doesn’t really know where he lives or who he belongs with anyway….he’s never been to the beach.”

“We go a few times a year. I have a little place in Pensacola. It’s a shack, really, but it has lights and running water and it’s enough.”

“Rub it in.”

“I’m not...Murphy. I’m not, I wouldn’t. Believe me, I get it. I can see your face. Y’know…”

He passed him a cigarette and opened the door onto the side porch.

“C’mon, just don’t sit by the roses. You got shoes on?”

“Yeah…”

“Awright.”

“It smells amazing out here.”

“I know, I can’t even imagine living anywhere it doesn’t smell like that. That’s an angel trumpet you’re getting right now. Later on it’ll be jasmine. There’s a sweet olive out here, too. When that kicks up I open every single window I don’t care what the weather is. It’s too good to miss.”

“I see why you said I can’t take him.”

“That was in a dream, Murphy. I never really said that.”

“Maybe not, but did you mean it?”

“Fuck yeah I meant it.”

They both laughed, the absurdity of the conversation clear to them both.

“I can’t take him. I can’t. This place...with you? It’s how a little kid is supposed to live. It’s...it’s life. What Matty has? That’s not life. He lives in a cold, harsh, sterile asylum for crazy assassins. He has no friends. He never goes outside. He’s never been to school, he’s never been to the beach, he’s never…”

He stopped, words backing up in his throat as his voice broke, alarmed to find himself far closer to tears than he liked.

“His mother was crazy, she tortured him his whole life…”

“Why’d you let her?”

“I wouldn’t have. I didn’t know. I didn’t know he existed. Then when I did I didn’t know he was mine. I didn’t know his mother was making him sick, I didn’t.”

And fuck, now he WAS crying and Gavin was suddenly next to him, alarmed and unsure.

“Murphy. Murphy, don’t. DON’T. You didn’t know and look at what you’ve done to try to make it right…”

“Nothing. I used him as bait to catch his mother. I let him see me...see me...he hasn’t had any kind of life and I’m not making it any better.”

“You are, though. I see your face when you look at him. I saw it when you looked at Cody. You LOVE them. Even if you don’t know them, you love them. And it’s very clear to me there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. They’re little kids, Murphy. Just having someone else who loves them makes their lives better, and look at everything you’re doing now.”

“What am I doing? I came here to GET Cody.”

“I know you did. And I won’t lie to you, I didn’t want you here at all. Part of me still doesn’t. But at the same time I’m glad you’re here. They NEED to be together, and not just because of the weird fucked up MacManus connection they have that I have no doubt keeps them alive. They need to be together because they’re brothers. They’re twins. They’re two halves of the same whole and they need to be together. How that’s going to happen I guess I don’t know, but…”

“I’m not taking him away, Gavin. I can’t do that to him. Or to you. I’ve seen how you look at him, too. But fuck, I have no idea what to do.”

He swiped at his eyes, trying to pull it together and failing almost completely. He was too tired. Too strung out. Too scared. Too everything, and he almost laughed, thinking about the impression he must be making.

“Boy, is this ever the way to meet us. Deadliest two people ever if you believe the rumors and here I am bawling my face off on your porch and the other one got his ass kicked by a little piece of fluff.”

“Yeah, well…I got to admit, it wasn’t the most intimidating first impression.”

“No, I don’t guess it was.”

“Murphy. For now...just relax and regroup. You’re all safe here, and you’re all welcome. Just...get it together, let the kids get to know each other, let me and my retarded brother figure out what we’re going to do about him.”

He dragged on his cigarette, eyes going dark.

“You know...he’s not gonna be around long.”

“I know. I don’t want to think about it, but I know. And fuck…neither am I.”

“You?”

Gavin’s huff was comfortingly scathing.

“You got a minute. I know, I know, I see the thing in your arm, and I know all about what happened to you. But you’re ok.”

“How do you know what…”

“Even though I didn’t talk to Bodhi doesn’t mean I didn’t talk to the rest of my family, Murphy. The only secret they kept was that little boy in there. And they didn’t know about this one. I understand that, too. It’s kind of painfully obvious.”

“Is it? Because I don’t get it at all.”

“Oh Murphy. We’ll talk. But it shouldn’t be tonight. You’re done in and honestly so am I. I really thought I was gonna lose him, Murphy. I really did. When he suddenly turned that corner and started to come back….thank GOD you got here, Murphy. Right now there’s literally nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you. You have no idea how much I love that little boy. I couldn’t love him more if he were mine. You really have no idea. And I’ll tell you all about it. How I ended up with him, you don’t know that do you?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Tomorrow then. When we’ve all had some sleep, and Cody’s better.”

“And Connor.”

“And Connor. That poor son of a bitch, he’s one tough customer, him. That many stings would have landed anyone else in the hospital.”

“Yeah well...that’s just us.”

“Don’t laugh at him, either. Those stings hurt like a bitch and they make people SICK.”

“I won’t laugh at him.”

“You guys want me to find you someplace to sleep I imagine?”

“I don’t fuckin care, Gavin. I’m so tired I’ll sleep right here.”

“You’d wake up covered in caterpillars. I think I can do better than this. Actually...right now the power and water aren’t on so it’s not much of an option, but I have a guest house in the back. It’s in good shape, I was gonna rent it but so many tenants I had were fucking nightmares I finally just closed it and shut off the power and water. I can have them both back on in a couple of days if you want to use it, but for tonight, if you don’t mind the lack of privacy...and sleeping together…the sofa in the room Bodhi’s up above pulls out to a bed.”

“We don’t mind sleeping together, or with Bodhi. What about Matty? Where IS Matty?”

“Last I saw him he was sitting in Cody’s room staring at him like he was an alien or something.”

“Yeah he does that.”

“Cody has bunk beds, Matty can crash in there. At least for tonight I think they’re both whipped enough to not get into it.”

“You think they’ll fight???”

“I’m sure they will. You haven’t been around kids much, huh? They’re gonna be each other’s direct competition, make no mistake. But for tonight I think they’ll be ok.”

He crushed out his cigarette, pointing as he stood.

“Look, see that little guy with like...the green saddle on his back? Looks painted on?”

“Yeah…”

“Stings like a bitch. I’d have to say...you’re wise if you don’t touch anything alive. Most of it either bites, stings or is poisonous. C’mon lets go find the kids and Connor and get everyone fuckin tucked in. I’m about dead on my feet. Go on and get Connor, I’ll get the kids going.”

Murphy hadn’t been on the front porch five minutes...Connor just reaching a sludgy sleepy pseudo consciousness...when Gavin came out, shaking his head in obvious wonder, tears standing in his eyes.

“You guys...you gotta see this. Come on, and be quiet.”

He waited while Connor gathered up his bottle and his butts, some unspoken realization that Gavin didn’t mess up his porch clear in the air, leading them back down the hall and into a room they hadn’t noticed, tucked off a little hall off the hall.

“Cody’s room. He loved that it was set off here, said it was like a secret. Really it’s just a bad seventies reno, but he loves it. Be quiet now, but check ‘em out.”

At first glance the bed was empty, lower bunk made up and unused. It wasn’t until they looked above that the reason for Gavin’s emotion came clear.

Both boys were in the bed, wrapped in each other...unlike Murphy and Connor, who slept together and often wound up in each other, but clearly separate, the boys’ embrace was womblike, fully connected and completely unconscious.

“My god…”

Connor only breathed the words, hand coming to rest on Murphy’s shoulder, needing to touch him, needing to be touched.

“Watch.”

Gavin, silent as smoke, stepped closer and slipped a hand between the boys, pressing them gently apart, stepping back in wonder as they moved as one, too graceful to seem the writhing motion it really had to be, winding back into each other as if there were no space around them, somehow liquid, fluid…

He heard Murphy sigh, caught the motion as he turned away from them, slipping from Connor’s loose grasp and ducking out of the room, caught Connor’s eye and nodded.

“Come on, I don’t want to wake them. I’ll get you some pillows and stuff. I thought that was really beautiful, I didn’t think it’d upset him.”

“It was. It is. It didn’t, not itself. I think he’s just….”

“Caught up in regret?”

“Yeah. He does that, Murph.”

“So does Cody. Not that he’d want you to know that. The sofa is in there, if you want to pull it out, I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.”

He could feel his brother in his head, not especially sad, not even that regretful, just overwhelmed and finished, and he made up the bed, flipped off the light and slipped between cool sheets, barely settled when he felt his brother slip in next to him, tangling them together without a word.

“Y’ok, Murph?”

“Yeah, I am. Are you?”

“I am. That was…”

“So amazing. It was like they weren’t...weren’t…”

“Born yet.”

“Born yet. Con, it kills me that they’ve been apart all this time.”

“They didn’t know it, Murph. And they’re together now.”

“I know. I know.”

He pulled away a little at a soft hiss from his brother, realized he’d brushed against the stings on his neck, the stings on his hand.

“You sure you’re ok, Conn?”

“I’m sure. I feel like that little creature handed me my manhood but other than that I’m fine.”

“I can probably reestablish that for you…”

“Will you be mad if I say I don’t have it in me?”

“Nope. But don’t think I’m gonna let go of you.”

“I won’t let you.”

They curled in together, listening to Bodhi’s gentle breathing up above them, the light, careful sounds of Gavin moving around his house, putting things in order as quietly as he could, the buzz of some incredibly loud insect penetrating even the hum of the air conditioning.

“Did you see his paintings? In that front room?”

“I did.”

“That’s who he is, Connor. He’s all light. Bright, like. You know what I mean?”

“I do. He’s just sweet, isn’t he. All the way through. Like Bodhi but without the dark cloud.”

“He loves my son, Connor. Loves him.”

“I know.”

“I can’t…”

“Sssh. Not now, brother. Not now.”

He kissed his forehead, fingers settling on his neck, circling.

“Tonight just sleep. There’s time enough to figure it all out.”

He soothed him to sleep as he always did, with those little tracing circles, drifting off behind him, deep and dreamless.

He woke up, once, in the silent dark of 2am, even the bugs gone quiet, to Murphy’s mouth suckling at his nipple, fingers softly rolling the other, and as it turned out he wasn’t too done in for it after all.


	100. Chapter 100

“Jeeeesus Christ!”

“Lords fuckin name…”

“Shut up.”

Gavin had been all too right that the boys would fight, and right now they’d worked Murphy and Connor’s collective nerves into a fizzing mess.

That they slept every night wrapped in that eerie, lovely, womblike embrace by no means mediated their waking antagonism toward each other and they fought fairly continuously from the time their eyes cracked at dawn until they fell closed at night. They came to blows more often and not, and at first the twins had been loath to break them up, citing their own fistfights as proof that it did no harm, but when Cody went screeching to Gavin with a broken tooth, victim of a fistful of rocks wielded with vicious abandon by Matthew, and when Matthew turned up with his lower lip shredded, compliments of Cody’s fist and his own teeth, they knew they couldn’t let it go.

“It’s like they fucking hate each other, Gavin. I know they need to be together but maybe they don’t need to be TOGETHER.”

“They don’t hate each other, Murphy. They’ll work it out.”

He said it, but it was clear in his eyes that he wasn’t sure. He’d expected them to fight, he hadn’t expected them to actually hurt each other and none of them were sure exactly why they were doing it, given that when nightfall came...dinner eaten, teeth brushed, blood washed off...they immediately fell into Cody’s upper bunk, joined. Connected. Unwilling...perhaps even unable...to let go of each other.

They’d all taken them aside, taken them together, taken them in any combination they could think of, and outright asked them, getting no answers, the boys shooting daggers at each other with their eyes if they were in the room, sending clear mental ones that everyone could see if they weren’t.

They were getting sick of pulling them apart, and it had become an unspoken rule that someone stay within easy reach of mayhem disruption at all times. It didn’t help matters any that they wouldn’t step away from each other….ever. They fought...but they were inseparable in their hostility.

Now, both of them outside, ostensibly clearing off the side porch, the bickering had reached somewhat epic proportions, winding its way inside and digging at the twins’ patience even with each other.

“They’re gonna fucking kill each other one of these fucking days, do you HEAR that shit?”

“Well they’re your fucking children brother, go out there and do something about it!”

“Oh fuck off y’...what the FUCK!”

This as an ungodly screech pierced the kitchen, sending them both out the door in a second, for a moment unable to take in what they were seeing, stepping back as Gavin, drawn by the sound, barreled in from the front.

“What the fuck is this shit now?!”

It only took them a second now to translate what they were seeing….both boys standing together, absolutely seething, that first shriek given way to a mutual painful keening that seemed to have no source….Cody’s hand pressed hard to Matthews face.

It was Connor who realized it first, seeing the spreading blisters starting up Matty’s face, spreading down Cody’s wrist.

“JESUS!”

He was on them in a second, Murphy immediately behind him, pulling them apart and shaking Cody’s hand, clenched now on whatever he held as Murphy grabbed Matthew and dragged him inside.

“OPEN IT AND DROP THEM NOW!”

“No.”

“DROP THEM!”

“NO!”

“Cody!”

He made a huge effort to lower his voice, his panicked glance taking in Gavin, already gathering as much first aid as he could, cell in hand, ready to call 911.

“They’re hurting you. Drop them.”

“Fine.”

He never imagined the kid would do what he did, and while he later would admit a certain grudging admiration for the move, he was anything but charmed when Cody’s hand flashed out and opened, slamming him squarely in the face with the fistful of caterpillars he held in a hand now so blistered and swollen it didn’t appear to belong to a human being, holding them there with an iron strength that not only surprised but amazed.

He pried the hand off his face as gently as he could, using far more force than he was comfortable with just to budge it, sighing in relief when the kid finally gave up, relaxing his hand and shaking at least a dozen mostly crushed caterpillars out onto the porch.

Connor, struggling now, had felt it start almost before the pain hit, the tightening in his chest, the nausea, the crazy, rabid panic that he now knew was all physical, all venom.

He fought it down, nothing in his sights but that little hand, so poisoned and deformed, the same gasping wheezes he heard coming from his own chest coming so much louder from the little one in front of him.

“Jesus Christ why would you DO this?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, picked him up and ran him inside, taking in Matthews paper pale, sweating face, his strained gasps for air.

“There you go Murph, now they’re using bioweapons.”

He handed Cody off to Bodhi.

“Look at his hand. I’m gonna fucking puke.”

It wasn’t disgust, it was venom, and he meant it, not that it cut much ice at the moment with Murphy.

“Well swallow it and get over here and help me. Here…”

He handed him the roll of duct tape, turning back to Matthew, checking his lips, his mouth, his eyes, as Gavin gently applied a patch, eyeing Bodhi’s ministrations to Cody, just as thorough as his own would have been.

It didn’t take them long to have them despined, medicated and washed off, and while they were both blistered and wheezy they didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, both clearly still seething, glaring at each other from across the room.

What would have happened next would forever be an unknown, as any thought of yelling at them for hurting each other...again...vanished when Connor stood up, staggered and almost fell, laughed a little through lips turned a horrible purple blue, squinted out at them through horribly swollen eyes, wheezed out words that made nearly no sense through a throat swollen nearly shut and passed out cold.

 

They’d given him something, he didn’t know what, but whatever it was he liked it. The pain in his face, throat and eyes had mercifully faded, his breathing was smooth and easy, and the nausea had mercifully left him.

He suspected, briefly, that he might be dead and this peace might be heaven, that notion quickly driven away by the feeling of exhausted mirth that filled his head.

“You’re not dead, brother. And no doubt when the dope wears off you’ll wish you were, but no, you’re still with us.”

He was, and he wasn’t altogether pleased about it.

“Murph.”

It hurt to talk, his throat felt full of some crap, and he tried to clear it, wincing with the pain.

“Feel like I puked my throat out.”

“I was afraid you would. Least you can breathe now.”

“That little fucker. Murphy, your kid tried to kill me.”

“My kid almost succeeded.”

“No…”

“Yeah! By the time the ambulance came you were BLUE Connor! Fuck!”

He caught himself yelling at the same time he caught the wave of sadness from his brother and stopped, taking a breath and reaching for Connor’s hair, running his fingers through it, every bit of his soul crying an apology.

“Oh Con I’m so sorry, I know. I’m just...it scared the life outta me. I kept expecting your...youness...to kick in and it just didn’t. You didn’t start breathing again and they couldn’t get a tube in cause your throat was all swelled up and then you were throwing up and choking and they said you had those hairs in your EYES and…”

He was losing it, hard.

“Hey…hey, Murph.”

It hurt to talk, oh lord it hurt to talk, but he couldn’t leave him like this.

“I’m ok. I’m ok. I would’ve been anyway, you know that. If bullets don’t kill me a bug isn’t gonna.”

“The bug almost did!”

“Murphy, c’mere.”

He slid over a little, though the narrow ER cot didn’t allow much room, and pulled Murphy down.

“Just stretch out. Listen to my heartbeat for a while, get it in your head that I’m alive. Despite your children. Are they ok?”

“They are. They are. You got it worse than they did.”

“Christ, how? Cody had them in his hand all that time…”

“Because you got stung so bad just a few days ago. They said it created a sensitivity to the venom. Like an allergy. Conn, you can’t go near those things.”

“I wouldn’t have but he hit me in the face with them.”

“There’s something wrong with them, Connor. Something mental. They’re not…this isn’t normal.”

“No, brother. It’s not but I don’t know what it is.”

“Y’know, Connor…”

He hesitated, for the first time he could remember unsure what reaction he’d get from his twin.

“They told us. The kids, they go crazy…”

“Oh Murphy, come on now. Y’don’t believe that.”

I don’t but...well you have to admit…”

“I have to admit nothing. They’re not crazy. There’s something going on, brother, and no, we don’t know what it is. But it’s not that. It’s something real, but they’re not TELLING us.”

“Maybe we should separate them.”

“After all the trouble to get them together?”

“Not like….really separate them, but just get them out of arms reach of each other. Or out of sight. See if anyone will talk if they’re apart for a couple days.”

“Y’know, you two. You’re ignoring the obvious. Connor, you ok?”

“Yeah Bodhi. Cept my eyes are startin to hurt…”

“You had stingers in them.”

“They get ‘em out?!”

“I guess so. I imagine they’ll be in to talk to you before they let you go.”

“Why do you look so pissed off?”

“I am a little. At both of you.”

“At us. Why then?”

“Because you’re talking about your kids, Murphy, like they’re rabid dogs or something.”

“No I’m not but they…”

“They’re just little kids. They’re not crazy, they’re not...dangerous, at least not any more dangerous than the two of you, so maybe I should take that back. They’re SELECTIVELY dangerous. But you’re so stupid, the both of you.”

“Bodhi…”

“No, shut up and listen. All you have to do is open your eyes but…what’d you think you were gonna do when you got here, huh? Play house? You wanted them together, well...they’re together, and I’d like to see you try to pry them apart now.”

“And they fucking hate each other.”

“No they don’t! If they did they wouldn’t be together constantly. But they’re like the two of you, who are they going to take all this out on if not each other? They’re each other’s safe zones. And each other’s greatest threat. Look…..Matty’s completely out of his element. It’s been him and us for as long as he’s ever known and he’s only seven. He did ok when you two were added to the mix, he did ok finding out you were his dad, Murphy. He did ok when his mom went insane and he did ok suddenly living with me. He was just settling down to the three of us as a family when all this crazy shit went down, I’m sick, you’re not exactly well, we’re halfway across the country, he suddenly has a brother he didn’t know existed, there’s Gavin, who freaks him out because he looks just like me, and he might not have told YOU that he’s freaked by him but he’s told ME. He’s freaked the fuck out. He has this weird connection he doesn’t understand that’s forcing him to need to be in this other kid’s immediate aura pretty much all the time, but he doesn’t understand what it is, why it’s happening, or why he can’t do anything about it. They’re living in each other’s heads and they’ve never done it before. He’s not used to it. But the one he IS used to...YOU Murphy…that one’s gone. You’re not there anymore. He doesn’t get that bat signal from the two of you and that scares him.”

“Well we didn’t destroy it, it just went.”

“I know. But look at it from his perspective. He’s scared, he’s confused, he doesn’t know who his family is anymore, or who this other kid is he’s so drawn to. Then you have Cody, who’s had NONE of this strangeness in his life. It’s been him and Gavin his whole life. Suddenly his whole world is upside down, it’s full of strangers, he suddenly has a father he didn’t even know he was missing, Gavin’s attention is so divided he can’t even see straight, between me, Matty, the two of you...Cody’s just been thrown into the general mix and he’s not only not used to it he doesn’t like it. He’s got the same weird head thing Matty has, but he’s never experienced it before. Matty at least recognizes it even if he’s not happy that you’ve been replaced with Cody, but poor Cody has no idea what’s going on. He’s drawn to this kid who looks just like him, this brother he had no idea he was supposed to have, he’s got all these people he feels obligated to give a shit about when in reality he just wants us all to go the fuck back home. These kids...they sleep together because it recharges them and some instinct in them knows that and forces it. They don’t do it because they want to, they do it because they have some interior drive that makes them do it. They’re scared. They hear only that all of this confusion is happening because we wanted them to be together so they’re blaming each other for their lives falling apart. None of us are helping them, they’re trying to cope all on their own and they’re only seven fucking years old. And Murphy, they’re YOUR children. They have your instincts. If they perceive a threat they’re going to try to get rid of it, and right now the only real threat they perceive is each other. So you better get your act together before they really do kill each other. Or one of you when you get caught in the crossfire.”

“That was quite a speech, there.”

“Oh shut up, Connor. I’m too fucking tired. If you think I’m talking out my ass, fine.”

“Well where did y’come up with all of this sudden knowledge? If I remember correctly you were just as in the dark was we are this very morning!”

“I made a couple phone calls to child development experts and squeezed in a quick class in early childhood education while I was at it.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

“I don’t appreciate the density. I’ve been WATCHING them, how do you think I figured it out? Look, either take what I said under some kind of consideration or don’t. But you’ll forgive me if I carry my ass to a hotel so I don’t have to…”

“No. Bodhi. NO. You can’t leave.”

“Oh but Murphy. I can.”

“Bodhi. Please?”

“Don’t start the waterworks Murphy, for the love of god. I’m so fucking tired. I love Matty like he’s my own and I’m watching him fall to pieces. I love the two of you and I’m watching your heads just go further and further up your asses. I love my brother and I’m afraid my being here is going to take him down with me, and by the way….I’m on my way out in case you hadn’t noticed and I’d really really like the rest of my life to not be a fucking ordeal. I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to be out of your sight. I want to be right with you the whole rest of my existence.”

“Well, that’s what we want too.”

“Then for god sake! Fix this! These kids are SUFFERING Murphy. In ways they can’t even hope to explain and they know that. They’re not stupid people. HELP them. I’m not gonna spend what’s’ left of my life watching the people I love self-destruct.”

“That’s what we were talking about when you came in.”

“No you weren’t. You were talking about punishing them. Taking them away from each other till someone starts talking. Well…they don’t need to talk because I just told you what’s wrong with them. Not the same thing at all. And for the record, yes. I did say this same thing to Gavin, just now, downstairs. I’m so fucking tired I could drop right where I stand. I’m going back to the house and I’m going to bed. When you get home with your satanic children don’t wake me up.”

He started to leave, hesitated in the doorway and turned back, sighing in frustration at his own sentiment as he crossed to Connor’s bed.

“I really do love you both, you know that. I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but fuck, you guys...”

He leaned down, hugging Connor carefully, Murphy with a lot more force, leaning in with a little sigh of relief as their arms came around him.

“Murphy…”

He pulled back, stood up.

“It’s already in your head...what to do. No, I’m not reading your mind, I saw you staring at the fridge pictures over and over and over. You should go with that. Now I really am gonna go back and go to bed. Connor, you’re really ok?”

“Unless I’m supposed to be able to see?”

“I doubt you are.”

“Then I guess I’m fine.”

He didn’t grace them with anymore words, just slipped out, leaving them in silent thought.

 

“You want to do WHAT?! Murphy, are you out of your mind?”

He sat with Gavin, conversation quiet until this moment, in deference to the skittish sleep of the sickly people the house was filled with.

Both kids feverish, nauseated, pained and itchy, had been unable to sleep for hours and Murphy and Gavin had taken turns running cool water, baking soda rinses, vomit basins and Benadryl to each of them in turn, rubbing backs and wiping tears and reminded very forcibly that while they might, indeed, be two very confused, disoriented, angry MacManus twins, they were also two very little boys.

Devastated that Connor had been hurt, neither of them intending or planning that, the inevitable fight had broken out over whose fault it was, ending this time not in a raging all out brawl...they were too miserable for that...but a storm of regretful tears that neither Murphy nor Gavin had been able to stem.

Murphy, in utter desperation, had finally gone for Connor, who had elected to stay right where he was, feeling neither enough sympathy, nor possessing enough energy, to get up and go set them right.

“Let them feel bad, then, brother. Maybe it’ll provoke some thought the next time one of them loses his temper.”

He wasn’t mad, especially, but he wasn’t in any mood to coddle them, and it was clear he wasn’t going to budge.

They’d cried themselves to sleep, awash in discomfort and guilt, but at least they slept. Broken and fitful but still it was sleep.

Connor, dozing in and out, as uncomfortable as the boys in general but in real misery from his eyes...aching, burning, stinging and tearing, they were useless for vision and a source of endless anxiety, as the ER doctors parting words had set every nerve in his body on alert.

“If the discomfort in your eyes doesn’t pass in a day or two, I want you to see an ocular specialist. I THINK we were able to remove all of the venomous hairs from your eyes, but if any were embedded they may not have shown up with the dye, and could require surgical removal.”

As if he needed any added problems, the epinephrine they’d given him in the hospital didn’t seem inclined in any way to wear off, and he felt like he’d done a night of cheap, bad speed...plagued as well with the most bizarre sensation he’d ever experienced. He’d tried to explain it to Murphy.

“I d’know, brother, it’s fucking horrible. It feels like I can’t stretch my arms and legs enough. Or like….like...a yawn, stuck in them.”

Murphy, who’d experienced the same a time or two, generally in the middle of the night and finding it aggravating as hell, could commiserate but offer no solution, finally breathing a sigh of relief when his brother dropped off, sleep as light as that of the twins but again...sleep.

Bodhi they knew they wouldn’t wake up, couldn’t wake up with a crane and a wrecking ball, and as much as they realized it wasn’t a good sign, they were, this night, relieved that at least there was one person whose rest they wouldn’t disturb.

“You want to take them to the BEACH? I know you don’t get out much, but you do know there’s an entire ocean there for them to drown each other in.”

“Gavin, I don’t think they will. I think...look. Bodhi made me really think about this today. Think about what I’ve seen with them. We’re so focused on what’s going on when they’re fighting we’ve forgotten all about what’s going on when they’re NOT.”

“There’s a time when they’re not?”

“Yes. Yes! Granted not much...but Matty’s so...retarded socially. He doesn’t KNOW things. When Cody’s showing him stuff...they’re ok. When they were looking at all these pictures and he was telling him about his friends...they were ok. When he was telling him about the beach he was not only ok but he wanted to go, and Gavin...Cody wanted him to go. They got excited about it and they were GONNA talk to you about it but they ended up fighting over something and it all went to hell. I think...if we could take them out of anybody’s territory, and out of both of their zones….they’re fighting for space and attention and to get their familiarity back. Bodhi was right. Cody wants you. Matty wants me. But then they kind of switch and each wants what the other has but they feel...”

“Divided.”

“Yes! So, we take them someplace that doesn’t belong to either of them. NOT to your place at the beach Gavin, no way. But just like….rent a place or something. Just go, all of us, nobody’s territory, nobody’s routine, nobody’s system. Someplace fun, where they can just play like little kids, where Cody can show Matty what it’s about because they both like that. Where they can just be without anyone…”

“Busting in on anyone else’s stomping ground.”

“Yeah. I mean...maybe you’re right, and it’s nuts and one of them will make the other eat a stinging jellyfish, but it could work.”

Gavin’s glance held back a laugh, and the absurdity hit them both a second later, bringing on a spate of giggles they hadn’t expected, and welcomed completely.

“You don’t half suck, Murphy. I’m glad to find it out. “

“Oh, well good. I guess.”

“My brother thought of this?”

“He saw me looking at the pictures. I guess he knew what was in my head.”

“Yeah, he’s good for that. You two really love him.”

“We do. He kind of saved us both. Kind of. He might have almost gotten us killed a few times, but when it comes down to it we’re both still here because of him. And even if he hadn’t done anything, he’s just a good guy, y’know? There’s this…”

“Oh I know. I know. I’m not pointing this out to be a dick, but he’s been saving you since he was only a couple years older than they are.”

“I know. And I know that’s why you hated us.”

“Well, I don’t anymore so there’s no need to go there.”

He pushed back, got up, rummaged around in a cabinet Murphy had never noticed and pulled out a bottle in a bag.

“I don’t even know what the fuck this is. Someone gave it to me for Christmas a couple years ago.”

He pulled it out, raised an eyebrow.

“Gin. Every drink a pine tree? Well...shots?”

“Gin shots?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Awright. Might have been a gin shots kinda day at that.”

“Good deal. But you, you’re doin baby shots.”

“Why’s that?”

“You don’t mind me saying...you look a little worse for wear. And I can’t really avoid noticing you hardly ever eat anything.”

“I can’t, really.”

“I gathered that. But I don’t want you to fall out so you get baby shots.”

“Better than nothing. Gavin...you think it’s ok for Bodhi to go hang at the beach?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well...I mean aren’t you worried? He’s getting so weird in the head, I mean...nights? He’s right out of it.”

“Yeah, he sundowns like a bitch. Murphy. What’s to worry about? He’s dying. There’s not a thing we can do to stop it. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I think maybe there are worse things than spending the rest of your life at the beach.”

“You think it’ll be the rest of his life? You think it’s coming that fast?”

“I know it is. I can feel it in me, too. Oh…don’t look at me like that, it’s not gonna suck me down with him. I know that’s what he’s worried about, but it’s not. It’s his time...it’s not mine yet and I think that’s a law that can’t be bypassed. But...he doesn’t have long.”

“He even LIKE the beach?”

“You ever BEEN to the beach?”

“Up north and to be honest it’s not very pleasant. Cold as fuck. The water hurts it’s so cold.”

“Oh Murphy. Not down here. Down here it’s warm. The sand is white, the water’s the most amazing green, and it’s as warm as bathwater. He and I both love the beach and he hasn’t been in...fuck...ten, fifteen years. When he wakes up ask him.”

“No. Let’s just go.”

“Murphy, we’re practically already there.”


	101. Chapter 101

It wasn’t quite the dream Murphy had envisioned, for a number of reasons not the least of which was him...utterly unforeseen.. but they got a few good weeks before it became painfully clear they were losing Bodhi.

They had finally ended up, not in Pensacola, but in Destin, after a tense two weeks with Connor and his eyes, several embedded hairs painstakingly removed a few days after his release from the ER by an ocular surgeon and a round of intense and misery provoking antibiotics to treat the abscess that formed behind one of them. He didn’t say much, but he couldn’t see and his fear that it’d be permanent permeated his mind and Murphy’s, and kept the boys at bay, both eaten up with guilt...in no way mediated by Murphy’s clipped and blunt retort when Cody had mentioned it.

“Yeah, you’re little stunt with the bugs might have blinded him, so don’t come to me for reassurance. You can just wait and see right along with the rest of us.”

It was with obvious relief to all involved that his vision had returned to normal, and though, again, he hadn’t said much, the fact that he could now see what the hell he was doing didn’t go unnoticed, and he woke up one morning with both boys in bed with him, twined around him and sweating, uncomfortable as hell.

He didn’t even consider moving them, wouldn’t, in fact, have moved them to save his life.

They lost another week to Gavin, as he obsessively hunted for “A beach worth being at”, something that irritated Murphy, who was chafing to be gone, and amused Bodhi no end.

“He takes his beach seriously, my brother. You should have seen him, Murphy, when we were kids. We’d get somewhere and the sand would be dirty and he’d flip his shit. Or the water would have muck in it. Oh my god. It was like a personal affront. I’m not surprised he ended up on one of those white sand green water beaches for his little beach house, but I’m surprised it’s in Florida. I’d have pegged him for some tropical island somewhere.”

And though Gavin had settled Murphy’s near obsessive need to finance his idea with a final, soft, firm “There’s plenty of money, Murphy. Do you know how much I get for one of those paintings? It’s ok. I don’t want your money.” his refusal to even consider anyplace available had worked Murphy into a froth.

“I’ll find something! Relax! The boys aren’t gonna kill each other and Bodhi’s not gonna drop dead in the time it takes me to find a beach and a house for rent. Go somewhere with yourself.”

It would have become ugly, had verged on ugly, and then he’d found the little house in Destin, crowing gleefully when, with a tap and a click, it was theirs.

“How long?”

“I got it for six months.”

“SIX MONTHS!!”

“Well it was a choice of one, six or twelve. I figured to go for the middle. You gonna bitch now that we have it for too long?”

“No! No…”

And Destin it had been...as different from their little place in Pensacola as it could be. Lost among dunes, alone on a vast expanse of beach that made it seem a million miles removed from the rest of the world, it was isolated enough to suit the men, all beyond exhausted and desperate for downtime, central enough that the boys wouldn’t be bored...close enough to a strip of arcades, mini golf, go carts and ice cream that an easy walk down the beach could bring them to civilization any time they champed at the bit.

They didn’t talk about it, didn’t schedule it, didn’t worry about it, but every day saw one of them...and it shifted with no thought or effort on their part...walking the beach, twins in tow, headed for town and whatever cheap, seaside entertainment suited them.

The fights didn’t end, and it couldn’t be said for a minute that a day went by that didn’t involve pulling the twins off of each other...though they were both careful...perhaps having learned from just how sick they’d made themselves...to avoid living weapons, and for the first couple of weeks they’d both avoided Connor like plague after one of their dustups, as if still awaiting a wrath for the bug incident that they finally realized wasn’t going to come….but the relaxed atmosphere and neutral ground helped to calm their shredded nerves, helped to drain away some of the intense fear and confusion that had fueled their battles, and gradually they settled into something a little more normal.

That they needed something to bind them together, some joint project to work on, something they could both love and feed into didn’t occur to anyone until Murphy got sick and became that something.

He’d had no idea he was getting sick, too thrilled to be there, unable to believe how good hot white sand felt on bare feet, how soft the water was, and the air, how completely relaxed...limp as a noodle in Connor’s verbiage...the sun could make him.

They never ran the air, instead throwing the doors and windows open and leaving them that way, mindless of the sand that drifted in, reveling in freshness and salt and beach and he felt himself approaching the kind of mindless bliss he’d heard of but never known.

Until he’d stopped being able to breath without pain.

It’d begun gradually...he woke up one morning with a headache that he just couldn’t seem to shake, permeating his forehead, his face….

Gavin had passed him some sinus tablets that had seemed only to change the pain from a dull ache to a searing burn, and he’d been too uncomfortable to bother with any of them, dozing off and on in the sun and trying to get his Zen back, declining any and all offers to do anything that involved moving.

It had escalated from there, the ache in his sinus’ escalating to a continuous acid burn that never let up, spreading into his ears and throat. Swallowing became impossible, painful enough that it brought tears to his eyes, and it was with a huge ache that Connor finally forced him down and hooked up the tpn pump.

“Brother, you gotta do it. I know you don’t want to stay inside but you need it.”

He knew it, accepted it, felt too bedridden, too hospitalized even with all of the windows open.

“Think I could go onto the beach if I’m super careful not to get sand in anything?”

“No! Murphy, can you even imagine it? Just...it’s just a few hours.”

Except it wasn’t, because something wasn’t running right and the pump kept shutting itself off with a searing alarm neither of them had ever heard before.

“Murph, I got no idea. We might need to go to the hospital and have them check it out.”

“Con….no. Just gimme some goddamn juice, I’ll manage to swallow it somehow.”

“Well maybe you should see a doctor anyway, Murph.”

“If it doesn’t get better, I will.”

But it didn’t and he wouldn’t, as stubborn as Connor had ever seen him, loathe to take any chance on being trapped inside.

“Con, you don’t understand. I didn’t even know I felt trapped until we got here. I finally feel like I can breathe again...or I could if my fucking body would cooperate...but it’s like...I can’t stand the thought of being inside. It makes me wanna scream, Connor.”

“But you’re SICK, Murph.”

“I’m ok.”

“Like hell you are.”

 

“Murphy! Murphy, what IS it?”

He’d awakened, throat in bizarre spasm, scrambling for the water bottle on the table, gagging even as he took a sip, forced it down...waited.

It climbed his throat, somehow high pitched and bright, the feeling of a metal spoon scraping on teeth, streaking the back of his throat.

He sipped again, forced it down, glanced at Connor.

“I don’t know, it’s weird. Like that feeling you get right before you throw up, but I don’t feel sick. I couldn’t swallow…”

“Murphy, you have to go to a doctor.”

“Oh shut up.”

He sipped on the water for a few minutes longer, eyed his brother warily, as if he’d somehow make a sudden move to cart him away, and slipped back under the sheets, almost out when it hit again, that feeling that his throat was turning inside out, and he flung himself upright, grabbing for the water bottle, this time unable to swallow at all, gagging helplessly, finally retching off the side of the bed.

“Yeah, sure, you’re fine.”

Connor, holding him, rubbing his back, not really scolding.

“Ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Why you rubbing at your chest?”

“It burns.”

“You mean like heartburn?”

“No. Like...I don’t know. Like something burned out my lungs. Christ, now I do feel sick.”

“Uh huh. Can you lay back down?”

“No, I mean really sick. Lemme up.”

They spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, Murphy alternating between a grating cough that sounded more painful with every waking moment and lengthy bouts of nausea that vomiting didn’t relieve in the slightest and when he slept at all it was sitting up, leaned into Connor, a fingers length away from the toilet and there had been a time or two that that was too far.

By morning he’d begun to shiver, and the heat radiating from him tipped Connor over.

“That’s it, Murph. You’re running a fever, the fucking pump isn’t working, you’re throwing up...your chest hurts. You’re going to the emergency room whether you want to or not.”

That his brother hadn’t argued worried him more than the symptoms.

 

“Did you not notice this?”

The ER doctor, having gone over Murphy with a fine toothed comb, pointing out the white patches in his throat and mouth, remarking quietly that he’d bet the farm they were in his sinus cavities too, had ordered blood work and chest x rays and then turned his attention to the triple valve in his arm.

He pushed gently at a clear stretch of rock hard vein at least an inch long.

“This is why your pump kept “yelling at you and turning off”, your vein’s completely occluded. Didn’t it hurt?”

“No. It didn’t. It doesn’t. It’s infected?”

“Oh I’m sure it is, but that wasn’t what I said. I said occluded. It’s blocked.”

“What would it be blocked with? You mean like a blood clot?”

“Possibly, but you’ve got a good fungal infection going and I’d lay you odds it started right here.”

“You mean that white shit’s in his VEIN?”

“Well...in the port. It’s causing inflammation in the vein. Murphy, it’s going to have to come out.”

“It can’t come out.”

“It has to. It’s possible to treat candida in the port but...it’s not really the best option. Removing it is, clear the systemic infection, put a new one in later. How much can you actually take in orally?”

“Nothing right now.”

“Because you’re sick? What about when you’re not?”

“Enough to get by for a few weeks. I only use this...fuck.”

He reached for the little basin on the bed, gagging up nothing and falling back with a groan.

“Just do whatever you have to do and let me go.”

“Go! Oh, no, going would not be a good idea. I don’t have your tests back yet but you’ve got a systemic fungal infection. I’m sure. Positive. You need…”

“Just give me whatever meds I need to take with me, I’m not staying.”

“It would really be in your best interest to…”

“Unless I’ll die if I leave I’m not staying.”

“Well, let’s wait and see what your tests say.”

“Fine.”

He’d left them, shaking his head, and Murphy had turned Connor’s glare back on him.

“Don’t. I’m not staying. I’d much rather die than be locked inside again, but we both know this isn’t gonna kill me.”

“We don’t know any such thing.”

They’d lapsed into uneasy silence, broken only by Murphy’s aggravated and increasingly painful cough, involuntary hisses of pain every time he swallowed, and the gagging that had become almost continual, whether the result of the cough, the shit in his throat or his general illness they had no idea and didn’t care, Connor becoming increasingly impatient as they were left on their own with nobody venturing near them to offer advice or relief.

His paranoia had begun to kick up, flashes of the last time they were in a public health facility, and he felt Murphy’s fingers twine with his, the little tap in his head telling him to settle down, they weren’t here on their own names, they didn’t resemble themselves, Murphy was supposedly dead already.

“We’re ok, Con, it’s just that they take forever.”

Forever it took, and it was hours later that they finally returned to the beach house, loaded down with prescriptions, instructions and an inch thick stack of papers absolving the hospital of any liability as they’d left against medical advice.

“Shouldn’t you have stayed?”

“No. Honestly, my nerves won’t take it. Ask Bodhi about the last couple times I was in a hospital.”

“That’s funny you should say that, because he’s been telling me you’d be back. That no way would you stay unless you were at deaths very door and even then maybe not.”

“He’s right. How’s he doing?”

It was dark, and Bodhi hadn’t been getting along well with evening.

“He went for a walk, the twins are tailing him. He was pretty out of it but he managed to be coherent enough that I didn’t feel like I had to y’know...tape him down or anything.”

“It’s getting bad, this thing in his head.”

“Yeah, it is. It will. I talked to Donny a couple days ago. He told me it sometimes gets better when the meds stop, but that if it was going to it would have by now, wouldn’t still be getting worse, so….I’m not gonna argue with him if I can help it. I’d rather just let him be as free and happy as he can be.”

“With you there, brother. Murph, you want to go to bed or go outside?”

“Go to bed, I’m done.”

He’d waved them off, staggering down the little hall himself, and they’d both watched, not aware they were holding their collective breaths, until the little bedside lamp clicked on.

“What’d they say, Connor?”

“He’s got some fungal infection. In his sinus’, in his throat, his lungs, his stomach, his blood. Everywhere. It started in that port in his arm. They took it out.”

“He...Connor, that only happens to people who are…”

“I know. Immunocompromised. He is. Has been. He’s such a mess inside nothing works the way it’s supposed to. If he wasn’t who he is he’d have been gone long ago. They wanted to keep him, I mean, aside from the blood infection he has fucking pneumonia. He wouldn’t stay though.”

“Well what’re you gonna do?”

“He’s got meds. They gave him something to stop him vomiting, gave him two or three shots, don’t know what they were. Just gonna keep him down, and quiet, and medicated and hope for the best. And if he gets worse he’s going back if I have to knock him out.”

“Glad to hear you say that.”

It hadn’t come to that, something Murphy had known in his albeit aching gut. Too familiar with what deadly felt like, he knew this wasn’t it, and ultimately so did Connor or he’d have never allowed him to leave the hospital.

Non-lethal, however, didn’t equate to non-miserable, and for a week he was sick enough to almost wish he’d die and have done with it.

It brought the boys together almost as if it’d been planned, something that amazed and astonished all of the men, Murphy no exception.

He awakened the next morning shivering and fever sick, itching everywhere from the medications and on the edge of vomiting despite the anti-emetics that in theory hadn’t worn off yet. He sat up only long enough to throw the windows open and fell back, thirsty and hot, already reaching for Connor with his mind...startled to feel a different hand brush his hair away from his face, another hand rest something cold against his hot forehead, eyes opening onto his own in miniature and with the fever addling his mind he wasn’t sure which son it was, starting to ask, cut off as a bright flame of nausea lit up his throat.

He started to move, halted by that small hand, and a cold lip of metal touching his chin and he glanced down into a dented iron bowl.

“Connor said you might get sick, he told me to bring you this.”

Good thinking on Connor’s part.

The thought was hazy, and though he could feel himself starting to vomit it was distant, far away, eclipsed by a consuming, burning itch that seemed to be the air, no longer caring who was with him, just wanting it to stop, pleading with he didn’t know who for it to stop, aware that he was crying and that even that hurt.

“It’s ok, Murphy.”

Such a little voice, such little hands, and he knew he must be scaring him, struggled to pull himself together, spitting into the bowl he was once again aware of and pulling himself a little more upright, gently removing the hands holding his, babbling an apology he couldn’t seem to control.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m ok….”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Which one of you are you?”

He couldn’t really see, there was too much sweat in his eyes, couldn’t really tell because over the last couple of weeks Matty had started to catch up, they’d started to even out, and it got harder and harder to tell them apart every day.

“Bodhi said that, too.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah. I’m Cody.”

“Cody. Where’s Connor?”

“He’s coming. You want me to get him?”

“No. No. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be…”

But he’d faded again, that burn taking him over, pushing the air out of his lungs and he didn’t want to get started coughing because god knew how long it would take him to stop and it’d only make him throw up again and there was this KID here…

“I’m not just a kid, Murphy, it’s not like I never did this before.”

“Matty?”

Oh god, he was confused.

“Wasn’t Cody just here?”

“A while ago. You’re real out of it, huh?”

“Sad fuckin truth you’ve done this before. Horrible life for a little kid, taking care of the likes of me”

“You swear too much.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You still feel pukey?”

“No.”

He felt the metal of the bowl, no longer cool at all, no...it was hot...taken away from him and he was glad because Jesus it was hot, HE was hot, and the sound of the waves was making him crazy. If just one could break over him…

“You can’t go in the water, Murphy, you’re sick.”

“Did I say that too?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I love you.”

He opened his eyes on that, absurdly touched, and reached to touch his sons face, marveling at him a little, as he always did, blinking suddenly at the double image before him.

“Am I seeing double or are you both here?”

They both giggled, disorienting as hell given that he had no idea what he was seeing.

“We’re both here, Murphy.”

“Why?”

“I told you. Because I love you and Cody wants to.”

“Wants to what?”

“Love you.”

“This probly ain’t the way to fuckin do it, honey. When I puke on him he’s gonna hate me.”

He heard their giggles again, falling away on the now familiar burn that seemed to have replaced recognizable nausea, felt the bowl slipped into his hands again as a voice floated past his ear

“You’re right, he swears too much.”

“Oh shut the fuck up. Fucking judgey, both of you.”

He mumbled it into the bowl, didn’t think they’d heard it, somewhat humiliated by the second round of laughter and promised himself that he’d kill Connor the next time he showed his face.

It would be several days before he’d remember that self-promise, or anything at all, the medication ultimately intended to cure him bumping his fever up and bringing down a wall of disorientation that eclipsed any real coherent thought.

The days passed in flashes.

Shoving Connor’s hands away when they came at him loaded with meds.

“I don’t want them, Con, they’re killing me.”

“Murphy…fuck.”

Connor’s arms around him in the dark as he shook with chills that made his teeth rattle, murmuring little words of comfort in his ear as he held the bowl for him...not only for nausea now, but because the cough had gone insane and he was coughing up as much as he was vomiting and it had become hard for any of them to tell the difference…

Little hands brushing hair from his eyes, sponging off his hot face, holding water bottles for him to sip from, coaxing salty/sweet liquids into him with a spoon, holding his hands and waking him when fever dreams shook him, running for Connor when things got too intense.

He heard their voices, talking to each other, talking about him, just on the edge of awareness, often, and he never knew if he was dreaming.

At least they weren’t fighting.

They’d giggled at that though, and he’d meant to ask if he’d spoken aloud again, drifting off before he could and his world moved into a cycle of sleeping, waking, shivering, aching, coughing, puking, sleeping...and then sleeping and sleeping and sleeping.

When he woke again, the twins were there, both asleep on a little pallet on the floor, Connor stretched out, awake, at his side.

 

“I didn’t SIC them on you, Murph, they wanted to be with you, they were worried about you.”

He was hard put to contain his laughter, the look on Murphy’s face somehow too hysterical to stand.

“How tired are you, Connor? None of this is funny.”

“Pretty goddamn tired.”

He touched the back of his hand to Murphy’s head, nodding a little. “You’re fever’s down a little I think. You’re still hot but you don’t feel like a blast furnace anymore. You scared the kids, you weren’t making a whole lot of sense.”

“They shouldn’t have been the ones dealing with me.”

“They weren’t! Are you nuts? I was right there, but they wanted to help you. Look at them, they wouldn’t leave your side to sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because they love you.”

“Matty does. Cody wants to.”

“What…?”

“Something Matty said. Or at least I think he did. Jesus I feel gross. Not sick gross, just gross. I’d kill to take a fucking shower.”

“You can’t, the water’s off.”

“The...what?”

“The water’s off. A pipe broke, there’s a plumber coming in the morning. There’s plenty of bottled, though so you won’t die of thirst.”

“Enough to wash in?”

“Murph, don’t bother worrying about it. Till this fever breaks you’re just gonna feel nasty anyway.”

“There’s a whole ocean out there I could rinse off in.”

“Will you stop? You’ve been babbling at us all about wanting to go in the water.”

“I have?”

“Constantly. You kept saying you wanted the waves on you.”

“Well I do.”

“Well, when you can walk down there you can go in the water.”

“That’s not right you cocksucker. I’m your brother. You should help me.”

“Piss up a rope.”

“This is love?”

“Best love in the world, brother.”

“I guess it is at that.”

He made a face, suddenly hit with a nausea wave, and reached for the bowl, hoping it would pass, praying it would pass, groaning in more than discomfort as his stomach clenched.

“Fuck, when’s it gonna stop…”

He felt tears starting and barely resisted the urge to smack himself, so sick of being sick he couldn’t stand it.

“Murphy, it’s ok. It’s going away. I know you feel like shit but at least you know it. You’ve been so out of it the last couple days…”

“I’d rather not know it.”

He shoved the bowl away, curled into Connor, crying a little and knowing it was all self-pity, giving in to it anyway, sighing as his brothers arms surrounded him.

“Go on Murph, it’s fine. I’ve been there myself a few times the last couple days.”

“What, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Who’d you have to cry to?”

“You.”

“Couldn’t have been much help.”

“Murphy...you have no idea do you.”

Connor’s voice went baffled.

“How can you even say that? Even completely out of your head, I was laying here a total disaster and you were all pat pat, hug hug, love love, it was damn close to disgustingly sticky sweet, brother. There are times, Murphy, that I think you could be stone dead and if I came crying to your grave you’d rouse yourself to pat me on the back and tell me it was all ok. So don’t ever say you couldn’t have been any help.”

I won’t do it again if you’re gonna complain it was too sweet.”

“Aw fuck, Murph, I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“And so do they, Murph. There’s no “wants to” about it. Do you know they haven’t had a fight since you got sick?”

“They…”

“Not a bicker, not a fuss. Nothing. They’ve been right in here, taking turns sitting with you, sitting with you together, trying to decide if it would be wrong to fuck with you and tell you you were talking to the wrong twin...I told them it would, by the way, in the state you were in you were having a hard enough time coping with their being two of them….working out how to keep you comfortable, keeping you cooled off….Cody figured out that you were having nightmares and how to sooth you out of them like I’ve never been able to. Matty figured out that if he put water here…”

He touched the inside of his wrist, reached past him and dipped his fingers into a tub of ice water, bringing them back to run them along the pulse point.

“It would cool you down without making you shiver. They were together in taking care of you the whole time. And maybe you didn’t know it, but you’re different with each of them.”

“How’s that?”

“Donny told us we should try to make sure you weren’t just taking in water, that we needed to get salty stuff and sugary stuff into you. We bought some Pedialite but you just kept spitting it out. Cody started putting soup in cups and trying to get you to sip it, you would sip water and juice just fine, but anything salty you just smacked away...don’t look like that, you didn’t smack HIM. Matty tried doing it with a spoon and you shoved his hand away every single time. I tried, Gavin tried, Bodhi….Bodhi tried to try but he kinda didn’t know what he was doing...and you knew that too because you were sweet to him. You wouldn’t cooperate but you were sweet. But when Cody came at you with soup in a spoon you let him give it to you. Only him. Nobody else. No matter what time it was, or who was around, or how you seemed to be feeling, the only one who could get anything with salt in it past your lips was him. He’s good at it, too.”

“Jesus I feel like shit now, Connor. That’s kind of humiliating.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s just a little kid.”

“He’s your SON. Shut up. If you ever again say that’s humiliating I’ll knock your stupid ass out. He’s the one that could shut off a bad dream in its tracks, too. Not me, not anybody else. Just him. And you’d only get up for Matty. You’d get squirming around telling me you hadda pee but you wouldn’t get up. You’d just lay here and hold it till you were in pain...and you were already in enough pain. Matty’d pass by and say “Murphy, you can get up, it’s ok” and you’d get up and go. Weirdest thing. I wanted to strip off these sheets yesterday and you wouldn’t fucking move. I even tried to bribe you with the beach…”

“Oh that’s great, Connor. Give me what I want when it suits you.”

“But you weren’t having it. I went and got Matty, said “Tell him to get up so I can get those sheets off the bed.” He came right in, said “Murphy, come on and sit over here for a couple minutes” and you said “Ok” and did it. Didn’t work for Cody or me or anyone else. Just him. You let him give you all those fucking meds, too. Personally, after the first day I thought we were done for, you’d just never take them again, that’s what was making you so sick, bringing your fever up like that, and you told me to fuck off every single time.”

“I sort of do remember that.”

“You’d take them from Matty. He’d bring them in and you’d look at him, and curse a blue streak, tell him to shut the fuck up when he told you you swore too much, and then you’d hold out a hand, he’d hand ‘em over and you’d take them. Only him. Nobody else.”

“Connor, that’s so weird!”

‘It’s weird to me that you don’t remember it. You were out of it, but you were coherent. Or you seemed to be, I mean you were responding like you knew what was going on.”

“I kind of do. But like I was dreaming. How come I’m not out in left field someplace now?”

“Meds are wearing off. The really hardcore ones that were kicking your ass are gone. The rest are just normal shit.”

“What’d you say about Bodhi not knowing what was going on?”

“We can talk about that later, maybe?”

“Connor….”

“He’s just mixed up, Murph. Confused. He doesn’t seem sick or anything, he’s just...I don’t know. Not sure when he is, or where, or with who. The twins are really fucking with his head, but they know it, now, and they’re being really careful to not be around him together. He doesn’t remember that there are two of them most of the time.”

“Connor how long have I been sick?!”

“A week. Those horrid meds were a seven day supply. They ran out yesterday. Feels like a fucking year, brother.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

“He’s that far gone in a week though? He was yelling at me right before I…”

“I know. He was fine except at night, he’d get funny. Now he’s just funny pretty much all the time.”

“Does he know it?”

“He doesn’t seem to...but...he knows when he’s not. He’ll tell me. “Anything you gotta say, Connor, now’s a good time.” so I think he knows he’s not connecting, he just doesn’t know it at the time if that makes sense.”

“And there’s nothing anyone can do?”

“No. The only thing to do was stop the meds. It didn’t help.”

“Fuck, Connor…”

“I know. But he’s still cool, Murphy. He doesn’t know if he’s afoot or horseback most of the time, but he’s still diggin the beach, and he’s still happy.”

But he was getting agitated, freaked out, and Connor could almost hear his nerves firing.

“What, Murph.”

“I want to see him.”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“So what? We’re up and he’s as much on vacation as any of us. He can sleep all fucking day tomorrow. Connor…”

It wasn’t just nerves, now, it was panic, flooding into Connor, metallic in his mouth, and he tried to sooth it, flinching when his brother, sensing his mental smoothing, flung it at him, full force.

“THAT’S what I’m feeling Con, please….I just need to see him.”

He could feel an ache in his throat, knew tears were close, real ones, the ones that take you and shake you and don’t stop.

“Con….”

“I’ll get him.”

He wasn’t sure which boy spoke, only that there had been two boys asleep on the floor and now there was one, sitting up and gazing at him with concern, moving close to the bed but keeping off, reaching to take his hand.

“It keeps happening to me, too, Murphy. He’s used to it.”

He turned to Connor, reproach all over him.

“He won’t mind, Connor. He’d mind more if we needed him and didn’t wake him up.”

“Aye Matty, I know. I know…”

He let his voice fade, and sat back with a sigh, watching as Matthew slipped into the shadows, invisible.

It wasn’t five minutes before Bodhi came in, staggering a little and rubbing sleep from his eyes, but very much himself.

“Whatsamatter Murphy, you ok?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking in the panic bleeding to pain on Murphy’s face, smiling a little, though there was no humor in it, when it spilled over and Murphy started to cry...hard and real and from his soul, wrapping his arms around Bodhi with no thought whatsoever, clinging….

He hugged him back, one hand stroking his hair.

“Aw Murphy...Connor told you how it’s been with me, huh?”

He shot a withering glance at Connor.

“You couldn’t have waited till he felt a little better?”

“He asked. I didn’t want to lie to him.”

“No, I guess not.”

He sighed, nothing really to say, just let Murphy hold on and cry himself out, the first time, he knew, of many times, waiting until he felt him start to pull himself together to speak.

“It’s really ok, Murphy. I’m ok. I get a little out there, but it’s no worse than I get with sucky weed.”

He heard Murphy laugh, knew he was clear to move a little.

“For real. I can’t remember where I put down my coke and it’s in my hand, but I know what I gotta know. I know who you are, not so much me all the time, but you.”

His voice raised a little, directed into the dark of the room.

“And you boys can come out of hiding, I know there are two of you.”

He turned back to Murphy.

“I wish I could say something that’d make you feel better.”

“No, you did.”

He was feeling a little like an ass, now, getting his friend out of bed to cry on his shoulder, but he couldn’t deny he’d needed to see him, to touch him.

“I’m sorry I woke you up, but I feel a lot better just seeing you.”

“I know. I get it. You can wake me up any time. Just don’t’ be disappointed if I don’t know what the fuck your problem is.”

“You do right now.”

“Yeah, it comes and goes.”

He moved, very much as Connor had, to rest the back of his hand on Murphy’s head.

“You’re way better.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I was beginning to worry… but kind of in a selfish assholish way.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I was worried you’d stay sick too long for me to ever talk to you clearly again. All I could think was…Fuck me, Murphy’s gonna finally get to where he knows what’s going on and he’s gonna say something to me and I’m gonna tell him I don’t want a fuckin popsicle or something equally retarded. And look, now here it’s me gettin all fucking emotional.”

He pushed off the hand Murphy set on his, laughed a little and swiped at his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re better for you, too, even if I’m dickheadedly glad for me first. I think...if you’re ok...I’m gonna go back to bed now while I’m still good. You’ll sleep better if I don’t space out on you.”

“I’m good.”

“And don’t worry, Murphy. I’m still gonna be here in the morning.”

“I know.”

“That’s something we should talk about when you’re better, though.”

“What…”

Connor cut him off, aggravation in his voice.

“AW don’t even start it y’fuckin foolish….go t’bed! Go t’bed and go t’sleep and forget all about that nonsense!”

“Your Irish is showing.”

“Go to bed!”

Bodhi, unoffended, laughed a little, hugged Murphy again and stood up, glancing down at the twins. “You two...I’m sorry I get so weirded out by you, but you look so much alike now I feel like I’m seeing double even when I know I’m not. You don’t have to hide, ever, though. Just tell me I forgot there’s two of you.”

“Will that work?”

“Yeah, I think so. Only one way to find out right? G’nite all of you. . In case I’m too addled to say it in the morning, I love you guys.”

He ducked out the door before they could answer him, leaving Murphy speechless and somewhere between comforted and devastated.

“Yeah brother, I know.”

Connor’s hand traced circles on his neck, not as soothing as it usually was.

“What were you yelling at him about?”

“Aw he’s got some crazy notion that he should go to some facility or something...I believe his words were to spare us. Not him, mind. He made it very very clear that he wants to be right where we are until he draws his last breath.”

“Good”

“I agree. But he’s worried it’ll be too difficult for all of us.”

“As long as he wants to be here…”

“I agree. So does Gavin.”

“Well then you’re right, he can shut up.”

He leaned back against his brother, felt his sons clamber up onto the bed and wind their way into comfortable spots, and relaxed into all of them, thinking it was impossible he’d ever sleep.

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until the sun woke him, and he found himself alone.


	102. Chapter 102

Bodhi’s accuracy of description being what it was, living with him was, for a while, very much indeed like living with a monumental stoner, and while he may have been addled, he was likeably addled and nobody begrudged him the extra reminders and explanations.

That they were making enormous allowances, and quite seriously rearranging their lives, occurred to none of them.

Connor, so used to dealing with Murphy’s added medical needs, barely even noticed.

For Murphy, who’s recovery took a lot longer than he’d expected...not that he minded since said recovery took place largely in a beach lounger with his feet in the water and who could honestly complain about that...Bodhi’s presence, mostly sprawled next to him on the sand, in complete denial of the tide and ending up soaked more often than not, was a continual comfort.

Something about just having him around made all of the little miseries easier, and if it bothered him to answer the same questions over and over again, to remind him which way to go, to check and double check...well... he never mentioned it.

It was rougher on the twins, Matty in particular, who was used to Bodhi’s veritable font of sharp as a tack wisdom. He habitually ran to him first with everything, having done it all his life, and with new discoveries, ideas, thoughts and questions flooding him now in this new environment, he found himself frustrated and frightened more often than not as virtually everything he presented was greeted with a vague, squint eyed smile and a noncommittal mumble.

Never one to hold his tongue, he brought Bodhi to task enough times that Cody...more accepting of the situation since he really didn’t know the guy anyway and didn’t have much base of comparison...after all, Gavin was still fine….took to pinning him down whenever he got too bitchy.

“You quit fussing at him, he don’t know any better than it.”

“Oh shut up who can even understand you?”

If they fought about anything besides Matty’s treatment of Bodhi, it was Cody’s speech, the hood rat Cajun mix in it driving Matthew utterly up the wall, something that didn’t really come to anyone’s attention until Connor broke up a particularly physical dustup, and snapped out a demand to know what the fuck they were fighting about this time.

Matthews answer made no sense whatsoever.

“Been, Connor! Been. Just leave me alone.”

He’d stomped away, heading first for Bodhi out of sheer habit, stopping in his tracks, throwing his hands in the air in utter exasperation and slamming into the house instead.

“Been?”

“I don’t know, Connor! He’s nuts, him!”

“C’mon, what’s he mean?”

He’d led him down to where Murphy and Bodhi flirted with the incoming tide, his comment to Bodhi mildly parental.

“Don’t forget to move or you’re gonna end up soaked again.”

“I don’t mind getting wet, if I did I’d move.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure about that.”

That Connor teased him bothered him not at all. That Matthew was often angry with him did, and that they fought about it even more so, and he glanced sideways at Cody, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t yell at him for yelling at me.”

“You shouldn’t let him yell at you.”

“Don’t you two start.”

Connor lit a cigarette and passed it to Bodhi, considered briefly handing one to Cody, felt his twin kick him lightly and laughed.

“What, brother. I didn’t do it.”

“You thought about it. What was the fight this time, C?”

“I don’t know, he was mad.”

“Y’know, I got that part.”

“He was yelling at him, I told him not to.”

“Yeah but what’d he mean ‘been’?”

“I don’t know, me, we had quit fighting about y’boy there. He asked me how long did I know Gavin, I told him been, and he hit me.”

If that hadn’t been enough to set Connor off, the look of horrified confusion on Bodhi’s face did it and he was hard put not to strangle at his comment.

“What language do you actually SPEAK?”

“What!”

“Nothing, nothing. Forget it.”

And so the days went, gradually losing length, breadth, depth as the summer wore on toward fall, and the changes that were coming seemed to move in as quickly as the light lost minutes.

Connor found himself antsy, edgy, ready to find something to do again, even as it became clear that Murphy was going in the opposite direction, losing any will to do anything that involved effort ever again, fully ready to just pack it in and stay here.

It was also clear that, while he was recovering from this illness….the new port already installed in his arm and working, the infection cleared from his blood…he wasn’t going to bounce all the way back. As well-nourished as he could be….better than he had been, since life at the beach seemed to have instilled in him a penchant for snacking, and he was literally never without something in his hand he was either nibbling on or sipping at…. and certainly not unwell in any way, he felt fine but his energy was gone. He spent hours every day asleep...in the sun if it wasn’t too hot, back at the house if it was...went to bed early and slept in late. His walks down the beach were few, his trips with them on various errands generally ended with him sitting either in the car or on a bench somewhere, and though Connor teased him about being a sloth, they both knew it wasn’t laziness.

He just didn’t have it in him anymore.

“I’m just TIRED, brother.”

“I know.”

And as fall raced toward them, the slow fade of days seeming to have increased a hundredfold overnight, it became clear to all of them that they were losing Bodhi.

They’d been lulled, for a while, with his seeming stability. Though he was scatterbrained and flaky, he seemed to be ok...he certainly outranked Murphy in general good health, keeping up with the twins with no trouble at all he was very often the one who wandered down the beach with them to the boardwalk….though this activity scared the bejesus out of the rest of the men, and Connor had taken the twins aside and given them a cell phone, with the stern and unbendable instruction, “If anything with him seems strange, anything at all, you call me right away. RIGHT away!”…and unlike Connor and Gavin, he didn’t pass out as soon as he got home...and he quite honestly looked better than he had since they’d met him, the lack of stress combined with sun , water, food, and his twin to bring a brilliant change in his appearance, the worry lines and dark circles fading, the Boston pallor giving way to a bloom of color that made him prettier even than he’d been when they met him, and he came to look so much like Gavin that, as with Murphy’s twins, it became difficult, at least until they spoke, to tell which brother was which at any given time.

He seemed ok.

It was Murphy who noticed him staggering, just a little.

They’d been at the water’s edge, doing a whole lot of nothing, and...evening being what it was for him...he’d suddenly been agitated, disturbed for no reason he could articulate, needing to move.

He’d gotten up and to Murphy it looked like he’d tripped over something...the sand, the chair, whatever, just a little, enough that he had to catch his balance, nothing remarkable but it fired up an alarm in him he couldn’t explain, and he’d remarked to Connor, as he watched him walk back toward the house.

“He walks like he’s drunk a little bit, check him out.”

And he did, vaguely, nothing dramatic, but it bothered him.

He’d noticed it more and more over the course of the next few days, how often the kid stopped to catch his balance, how many times he veered off and had to correct his course, and more disturbingly, how often he didn’t notice until he wasn’t where he wanted to be and got stuck finding his way back...even if he was only a few feet to one side.

As with everything else, they simply slotted it into their daily dealings with him, and it became commonplace to hear one...or both...of them calling out to him to “Watch which way you’re going, there, Bodhi.” or if he seemed lost “C’mon back toward me, buddy.”

It wasn’t until the stagger became untenable and he started falling more often than not that Murphy, too worried now to stay quiet, brought it to Gavin, who only nodded.

“I know. I noticed. I googled this thing he has y’know.”

He sat down with a sigh, motioning for Murphy to do the same.

“For a while I thought we might be ok. It said some people make it. They get screwed up and aren’t right ever again but they make it. I thought that might be him, since he seemed to be pretty stable.”

“Not now?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I suppose it’s still possible, but it’s not just his balance. He’s slowing down, Christ he spends almost as much time on his ass as you do. He’s got headaches he’s not saying anything about. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to complain or because he forgets he can say something, but either way I’ll see him sitting there rubbing at his head. And he’s getting mean, Murphy. I know he’s bitten your head off a few times…”

“Yeah, but he’s aggravated. I get it.”

“No, I don’t mean aggravation. I mean when he goes off for no reason.”

“He hasn’t done that to me.”

“No? He’s done it to me. And to the twins, he’s been real snappy with them. You haven’t noticed that?”

“I haven’t but…., I haven’t really seen them around him lately now that you mention it.”

“Yeah, that’d be why. He’s bitten their heads off so many times for nothing that they’re just avoiding him. I noticed they weren’t all traveling in a pack anymore and asked him about it. He swore a fucking blue streak at me, Murphy. Said they were bickering little pains in the ass and he wished we’d find a fucking nanny.”

“BODHI said that?!”

“He did. He came to me later and asked me about it. Had he really said it, because he thought he remembered he had but he couldn’t imagine why. He said “G, you know I don’t mean that, I love them!” but…. I wouldn’t have thought too much of it, I mean I love your boys like my own, shit one of them practically is, and I wouldn’t last a day without them, but they can sure work your nerves when they get going.”

“That they can.”

“But he said it to them.”

“He…what?!”

“Yep. They weren’t doing anything at the time, either. Just sitting there minding their business, watching TV. He was sitting there too and he got this LOOK on his face, Murphy. It was just...ugly. Not him at all. Next thing I knew he was telling them they were goddamned aggravating little fucks and he couldn’t fucking wait for them to go home. Cody, he just shook his head and rolled his eyes, he...gets it. He really does. He seems to just know how it is. Matty though….took Cody a couple hours to calm him down, he was really hurt. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him that somethings wrecking Bodhi’s brain and he doesn’t mean the strange things that come out of his mouth, it hurts to have someone you love so much tell you they can’t stand you. I asked Bodhi later on, when he seemed lucid, if he was gonna talk to Matty about that, and he told me he wasn’t gonna talk to any fucking kid about any fucking thing and I could fuck off and die for all he cared.”

“Gavin! You…”

“Didn’t take it one bit personally because it’s NOT him. It’s whatever’s wrong in his head and I know that. But it’s rough on the kids.”

“How come nobody told me?”

“Because your children, bless their hearts, specifically asked me not to.”

“Why would…”

“Quoth Matthew ‘Don’t tell Murphy. It’ll just make him feel bad and he finally feels good.’ He’s a sweet little boy, him.”

“I know he is, but you still should have told me.”

“I am telling you.”

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday. It’s not the first time though. He’s not sleeping anymore, really, either. He’s up in the middle of the night. I followed him outside a couple nights ago and he was just pacing. I asked him what was wrong and he didn’t know who I was. It passed quickly, it was only a couple minutes and he knew me again but the thing was, Murphy...it wasn’t that he couldn’t think of my name or place my face...he flat out didn’t recognize me and I’m his TWIN.”

“Jeeeesus. And there’s NOTHING we can do?”

“Nope. I called the others though. I think they’re coming down this week. They’ll want to see him while he’s still sometimes him, and while he’s still breathing.”

“Gavin!”

“Fact, Murphy. And I hate to say it but we’re gonna need to really keep an eye on him when he’s anywhere near the boys, and we can’t leave them alone together anymore. I don’t know why this thing is taking this form, this hostility toward them, but I don’t trust him around them.

“We’re gonna have to keep an eye on him for himself, too. He’s having a real hard time staying on his feet.”

“I know. I know. The list of just...horrific shit that can happen to him...this thing’s eating his brain, can you even fucking imagine? Shit, Murphy.”

He was so clearly miserable...but so very Gavin...he’d made it clear from jump that he wasn’t the touchy feely type and didn’t appreciate either set of MacManus twins tendencies to hang on people...that for a moment...a very brief one before his stubbornness took him over...Murphy was stymied for what to do.

“Gavin…”

He moved over to Gavin’s side of the table, slid onto the bench next to him, crowding him completely and without remorse.

“Aw Murphy, don’t hang on me…”

“Fuck off, it’s the only thing I know to do. Accept it.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.”

“I know it. Listen. We’ll tell the boys what’s going on so they know not to take any of it personally. They will anyway, but at least they’ll know. And then we’ll get with Connor because he loves to plan and he needs something to do so bad it’s killing him.”

“He does, he’s a mess.”

“He does. We’ll put a plan together to keep him safe, and keep him here because he needs to be here.”

“I agree.”

“Ok. And if he’s at all together we need to bring him in on it. Not fair to decide the rest of his life without him.”

This time it was Gavin who hugged him.

 

Talking to Bodhi proved far easier said than done, as he was lucid less and less and when he was he was so frustrated it was almost impossible to pin him down and he’d taken to spending most of his time in the water, something that scared Murphy and Connor no end.

“What if he gets lost out there and can’t get back onto land?”

“What if he gets confused?”

“What if something happens?”

All the more gentle versions of what if he loses it and drowns out there, as Gavin well knew, but he couldn’t pin him to land any more than he could pin Murphy to the indoors or Connor to a life of leisure.

“Guys, I know…I know. But for god sake, how much time does he have left? Just let him be in the water if that’s what he wants. He says it kills the headaches and I think it does. He’s almost always running fevers now, and it cools him down. He feels a lot less wretched in the water so just...let him be. Go hang with him if you’re worried. And look….if he drowns, he drowns. He’s not gonna be here long anyway.”

They’d been horrified, but astute enough to realize that it wasn’t the time to comment.

Somehow he never seemed to get lost in the water, and he always found his way back to dry land, so they crossed their fingers, counted their blessings and just kept an eye on him.

****  
  


It became clear that his evil side tended to come out at night...as long as the sun shone he was close to being the Bodhi he’d always been, at least as far as temperament, though he more and more frequently was at a complete loss as to who he was with and why he was there and very often didn’t recognize any of them....and the boys became especially adept at making themselves scarce when the shadows grew long.

He noticed it, however he managed they’d never know, and waylaid Connor one morning, early, sitting at the table already awake when Connor stumbled in to put the coffee on.

“Con.”

“Hey Bodhi.”

He kept his voice carefully neutral but he was thrilled to be recognized.

“You got a minute?”

“I’m so fuckin glad you know who I am you can have all my minutes.”

“I only need a couple. There’s coffee already if you want. And don’t worry, it has a filter, and coffee, and water, and I got them all in the right order and turned it on. As far as I can tell, it’s really coffee.”

There was no lightness to his tone, and as Connor nodded and poured himself a cup of what was, indeed, completely proper coffee, it occurred to him that their assumption that Bodhi had no idea how far gone he was was completely off, and he felt his heart break a little.

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna know what the fuck is going on, but I want to talk to you about a couple things. I know we talked about this before and I know you told me to fuck off, but now that it’s here and it’s happening…”

“If you’re gonna say something stupid about sending you away somewhere you can consider the conversation over.”

“Connor. You’re killing yourselves trying to keep an eye on me.”

“Do we look even close to dead?”

“Do I? Gimme a smoke.”

He lit one and passed it to him, catching the little smile that passed Bodhi’s face at his careful guarding of the lighter.

“Afraid I might set myself on fire?”

“Not right this second I’m not but I won’t deny there are times.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Connor, look….you’re trying to take care of Murphy and two little boys. You don’t need me added to that mix, and trust me, I know how I’ve been around them. It’s horrible and I feel like the worst possible asshole alive and I DON”T mean it...I love those little boys Connor...but when it happens I can’t do anything about it, hell most of the time I don’t even know I did it till afterward…”

“We know that, Bodhi. THEY know it. They understand.”

“They may understand but it doesn’t mean it’s not ripping Matty apart every time it happens.”

“He’s ok. He knows. You know he…”

“Sits with me as often as he can get away with it, I know. I wish he wouldn’t, I really really wish he wouldn’t, because I don’t WANT to be mean to him.”

“You try telling him that?”

“No! How can I tell him I don’t want him around?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it that way. But you can talk to him, he’s aware of what’s going on.”

“I know he is. You all are. AWARE. Connor….even now there’s still nowhere in the world I’d rather be, or any other people I want to be with. But I don’t want this to….”

“No, Bodhi. No. Look, you know why we would rather hunt for your missing shoe a hundred times a day than send you away?”

“Tell me.”

His voice was soft, quiet, so much the old Bodhi it broke Connor’s heart.

“It would just cut us out and make us helpless and none of us can stand even the thought of that. If you weren’t here Bodhi... We wouldn’t be able to see you…and good or bad we want to see you every moment we can. Right now we can talk to you and hang out with you and just be like we are with you when you’re good, and we can fucking be there FOR you when you’re not. We can touch you, we can laugh with you, we can be right here for every single moment that you’ve got left and that’s all any of us wants.”

He heard Bodhi’s sigh, felt him slide closer to him on the bench and nudge him a little, and slid himself away.

“Don’t you dare hug me. If you do I’ll come completely unglued and we don’t neither one of us need that.”

“Maybe you do.”

“Well not right now, I haven’t even had one fucking cup of coffee yet. Bodhi...listen to me once and for all, ok?”

“Ok.”

“No matter what you think, we don’t want you anywhere but with us.”

“It’s gonna get bad, Connor. You know that, right? It’s not just I’m gonna get senile...more than I already am...but I’m gonna get SICK. It’s already started and it’s just gonna get worse. I saw what you went through with Murphy, what you still go through. What you went through with Matty. I don’t want to put you through that, don’t you understand?”

“I do.”

“But you don’t care.”

“Not even one damn bit. Bodhi, we’re already in it with you. We’re gonna follow you around, pick you up off the ground, find you’re fucking shoes and WHY does this thing make you constantly lose a goddamn shoe???”

“I don’t know…”

The laugh in his voice was unmistakable, but it only served to bring Connor close to tears.

“Well, we’re gonna find your fuckin shoe, and your fuckin glasses, and remind you to put your fuckin clothes on and call you off the twins, and steer you back to wherever you were going and sit in that fucking water till we’re prunes so you don’t drown and whatever else we have to do to make sure that you’re ok because we fucking LOVE you. And because we’re a household full of selfish fucks who know we’re gonna m….”

He stopped, took a breath, fought off the wave of sadness trying to take him over.

“Who know we’re gonna miss you and fully plan to spend every single possible second with you from now until forever so Bodhi?”

“What.”

“Deal with it.”

“Connor...”

“What!”

“I love you too. And I won’t say anything else about going anywhere if it’s gonna wind you up like this. But I can’t shut up yet because there’s a couple other things I want to tell you while I can.”

“Well Christ, let me dump some whiskey in my coffee.”

“Kinda early don’t you think?”

“Please, this from the kid who’s been pushing downers on me since the day I met him?”

“You’re really scared to let me talk, aren’t you.”

Caught, he could only nod, and sat back with a sigh.

“I am. I...I’m really afraid I don’t want to hear whatever it is you’re going to tell me”

“I’m sorry. I’d say I’ll go find someone else but…”

“You might have forgotten it by the time you do.”

“Pretty much. Conn...it’s not so bad. It’s just important, because you’re all so much more lost than I am.”

“We….Bodhi…”

“No, seriously. I just want you to understand what’s happening and right now I’m in a moment where I can tell you.”

“We want to understand.”

“I know. It’s just….Connor, I KNOW what’s happening to me. I know when it’s happening. Every single time I forget where I am, I know I forgot. Every single time I don’t know one of you, I know I SHOULD. Every time I can’t walk a straight line, or get the right words out...I know. Every time I’m mean to those little boys….I can see it on their faces and I know I said something terrible and every single time I’d give the rest of my life to take it back. I’m IN HERE, Connor. You guys are so good, so amazingly good about not talking about me like I’m not here, and you can’t know how much I love you for talking to me even when it must seem like I have no idea you’re even there. I do know, and even when I can’t answer you I know. I want...NEED...you guys to know that I’m in there. Because more and more I feel like I’m getting trapped in there and I don’t want to be stuck in there alone. I want to at least know that you guys are aware that I’m still here. “

“We do know that, Bodhi. We do.”

“This….it’s starting to HURT, Con. I know it freaks you out when I’m in the water, but it doesn’t hurt so much. I don’t know why, but if I go underwater the headache goes away for a little bit, and believe me, if you had this headache you’d be willing to grow gills to get rid of it. So please, don’t worry that I’m gonna drift out to sea. I couldn’t be so lucky. And I’m not telling you this to make you sad, or make you feel bad for me….I just don’t want to see you all looking at me and wondering like you do. It’s all over your faces all the time. ‘Does he hear me? Does he understand me? Does he know what’s happening? Am I helping?’ and so you need to know that yes, you’re helping! Yes I hear you, yes I understand you, I know what’s happening. And really the most important thing Connor.”

“What’s that.”

“No matter what I say or do, no matter how loudly or or or madly, or insanely i say it or do it...I want you guys with me. If I tell you not to touch me, please ignore it because I DO want you to touch me. If I swear at you and tell you I hate you, please please please don’t believe it because it’s not true. And those little boys….please, if there’s any way to make them understand that I LOVE them and none of the ugly hateful shit I say means ANYTHING…”

“They already know that.”

“They’re just little. You’ll have to tell them over and over. I’ve thought about talking to them but I never know when I’m gonna click out again, and it’s the weirdest thing, Connor. It’s like….sometimes I feel...up here...totally and completely clear. Everything makes sense and I feel like it’s fine, but I try to say something and what comes out is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I hear myself saying I hate you when that’s not what I was going to say at all. I see, feel myself pushing you away when what I wanted to do was hug you. I tell the twins I can’t stand them and to go the fuck away when what I started to say was how glad I was they were there. It’s like being possessed, Connor, and it’s….I almost want to say just...when I get really hateful just switch whatever I said around to the opposite meaning and you’ll know what I’m trying to say.”

“Jesus Bodhi.”

They both twisted around to face Murphy, heading for the coffee with a lit cigarette already in his mouth, face contorted in a mask of outright horror.

“And it was medicine that did this to you. If ever there was an ad against big pharm it’s you sitting here in front of me right now.”

“You got that right. Don’t think for one minute that if I could get my head together long enough I wouldn’t write a letter.”

“Fucking strongly worded one I hope.”

“Very much so. How much did you hear, Murphy?”

“All of it. I didn’t come in because I didn’t want you to stop. It’s so fucking good to hear your voice again.”

“Murphy...the kids…”

“Stop. Just stop. I already know and so do they, but I’ll explain it to them as many times as I need to. You talked to your brother?”

“Not today, no.”

“You might want to.”

“I will. I do, y’know, more than you think. I get weird at night and he comes around and the shit in my head settles down. I should probably say this, too, while my brain and my words are running on the same track. I never did thank you for hauling me out of the emergency room, kidnapping me, forcing me to go to New Orleans and my brother….my brother...Christ you were so right, we never should have stayed apart so long….and dragging me to the beach. “

“Are you thanking me now or bitching?”

“Thanking you.”

“Well alright you’re welcome then. Bodhi, what DOES this?”

“What…”

“Makes you so...YOU...one minute and then just blinks you out the next?”

“I don’t know. But there’s a couple of things I need.”

“What’s that.”

“Meds. Pain and sleep and anxiety.”

“Ok, we’ll get ‘em”

“Soon.”

“Today.”

“Ok. Once we get them, don’t let me handle them on my own. It doesn’t seem like you would but…”

“Christ no, Bodhi.”

“I mean...like I am right now I feel like you’d…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that for one minute.”

Murphy’s voice was light but his eyes were dead serious.

“We don’t trust you as far as we could throw you.”

“Good. Y’know….a lot of the time…”

“What.”

“I don’t know, it derailed. Yeah. I’m gonna go sit in the sun and watch my mind melt and drip away for a while.”

“That what’s happening?”

“Starting to.”

“Bodhi, you know we’re both so sorry this…”

“Murphy, I know. Connor promised you’ll help me find my goddamn shoe right to the end, though, so there’s not a lot more I could ask for, huh?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t come around so often. You can’t….”

“What, Murphy.”

“You can’t hold it off, huh?”

“I try.”

He watched Connor, wordless since Murphy had come in, shove back and get up…too quickly...leaning over to brush a quick kiss on his head and touch his hair before he slipped from the room.

“He’s taking this hard.”

“He is. He doesn’t show it much, but…”

“I know.”

“If you’re gonna click out again, he doesn’t want to see it...but what you said to him? That’ll help a lot.”

“Think so?”

“I know so. Bodhi, what will help you? What can we do?”

“Just stick around.”

“Not a problem.”

“Might be.”

“NEVER a problem. Go on, then, go watch your brain melt before you make me cry.”

“Murphy…”

“Bodhi…”

“You drive me, you know that?”

“Sue me.”


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning on this one. Character death..though not a twin, no worries.
> 
> It's sad.

It was getting too cold to sit outside...something that surprised Murphy, who had thought Florida never got cold...but they did it anyway, both feeling too cooped up inside, though of course by now only Murphy could say it outright. He'd been grateful for that last conversation with Bodhi, grim though it had been, because it had been the last one. Oh, there were moments, here and there...unexpected and bittersweet.

The morning they'd been sitting down at the water’s edge, Bodhi no longer in the water because he could no longer get himself there...and the ability to get around had disappeared like a lightning strike...one morning he'd been staggering around in his usual drunken heart stopping way, and the next he'd been on the floor with no ability to balance whatsoever, and it was the first time they'd seen him break...though rampant frustration had become his norm, his situation had seemed more aggravating to him than anything else until this moment when he realized he couldn't stand up on his own. He'd just dissolved, and though he'd swiped at all of them, again and again, not wanting to be comforted or perhaps in opposition, Murphy didn't know and didn't care, and since his aim wasn't any better than his balance, Murphy had finally simply crowded in on him, grabbed him and held on...finally feeling Bodhi's arms come around him in return...their neighbor from across the dunes had come by...they didn't know her name, just said good morning every morning and g'nite every evening and that was just fine. This particular morning she'd stopped, hesitant but somehow determined, and finally approached them, not at all confidently.

She'd introduced herself, and her name was Gretchen, that information for some reason sparking a giggle from Bodhi, and Murphy had introduced them both, waiting now somewhat expectantly because she clearly had something on her mind.

It wasn't what he'd expected.

She'd asked him about the house, at first confusing him with vague queries about what kind of place it was, finally just blurting out that she'd seen the twins, one of whom hadn't seemed quite right when they arrived, though he seemed perfectly fine now...something Murphy would recall just a few hours later and take note of...and of course there was Murphy, with the trivalve hanging from his arm and his obvious lack of strength, and Bodhi, who she'd watched decline over the summer. She'd wanted to know if the house was some kind of medical residence.

Unsure whether to be pissed off, amused, or just answer her question, he chose the latter, and told her that no...it was just a house and their collection of infirmities really had nothing to do with anything.

He hadn't been particularly gracious...it had irritated him...and she'd taken her leave quickly.

He'd been sitting there brooding about it when Bodhi, who'd been completely vacant after that first laugh at her name, suddenly leaned in, grabbing out for balance but smiling.

“Oh Murphy, we're a goddamn mess if the neighbors are starting to talk. My brother in the shadow. Course I'm a lot further under the overhang than you are.”

He'd sat back, started to say something else and drifted away...gone as quickly as he'd emerged, and Murphy had found himself blinking back tears.

Again, just a few hours later, watching Matty walk toward them down the beach...at least a head taller than he had been just a few weeks ago and quite a bit bigger all around he'd acquired that same bizarre grace Murphy possessed...loose and ragged and quick without a bit of wasted motion. Their nosy neighbor’s comment ringing in his brain, he watched him closely, realizing what he should have seen without the help of some biddy next door. His son's overflow motion had disappeared. His hands were loose and relaxed at his sides as he walked, his movements sure and steady. He'd begun to remark on it, halted by Bodhi's hand on his arm.

“You were right, Murphy. Bringing them together. He hasn't had any....” he waved his hand a little, not a particularly apt description but enough for Murphy, “...since he got here. Cody's not all blown up anymore either and his cough's gone.”

Again he hadn't had a chance to reply. He'd seen the light fade out of Bodhi's eyes before the last word had finished echoing in his ear.

His moments weren't always equal to the situation, those being somewhat more bitter than sweet given that they were almost always either wildly inappropriate or just soul stabbingly sad.

They'd been at dinner, trying not to watch him struggle to hold onto things, finally unable to avoid it when he'd shoved everything off the table in complete frustration and remarked “My fucking hands don't work at all anymore. I don't really care if I can't hold a glass but how the fuck am I supposed to jerk off?”

Murphy had almost choked to death, Connor thumping him absently on the back...hard enough to knock him into the table and blocking the fist that flew at his face with barely an upward glance…and replying with equal inappropriateness given that there were two seven year olds at the table; “Well I wouldn't worry about that, me and Murph will help y'should the time come.”

Gavin had almost strangled at that one, and though it should have been funny...it somehow just wasn't.

Or the time, quiet and peaceful and sleepy, all of them half drowsing in front of the fire pit they'd dug in direct defiance of beach rules, that he'd suddenly popped off with; “You know, you don't have to worry. This isn't gonna be some long, drawn out thing. It'll be quick, now.”

None of them had known what to say, just staring at him, and he'd nodded and faded...close, that time, to invoking real hostility from Connor, who was having a hard enough time without random brutal gloom from Bodhi's particular weird peanut gallery, and it had only been Murphy, stepping lightly on his foot in silent warning, who had stopped his temper.

He wasn't always there to stop it, and to say that there were fights would have been an understatement. Connor had become particularly adept at picking out the difference between Bodhi being out of his head, and Bodhi being a bitch, and he called him on the latter pretty much every time....and depending on Bodhi's verbal ability at the time the yelling matches could sometimes be heard down the beach...his particular peeve being Bodhi's treatment of the twins.

He'd snapped Murphy’s head off the one time Murphy came after him about it.

“Brother, DO NOT DEFEND THAT! I know sometimes he can't help it, but half the time they're just getting on his nerves and he knows he can be a rude jackass and get away with it. He's gonna make them cry one too many times and I'm gonna knock him out, don't think I won't.”

He hadn't knocked him out, but he had finally lost his temper completely and smacked him in the head...not at all gently and doing nothing for the ever-present headache Bodhi always had...but his abuse of the boys had decreased exponentially and he'd climbed into bed with them a couple of nights later full of apology and affection. That he'd gotten only a short “Apology accepted and you're forgiven but don't think it means you can just keep on doing it. You can't. It's not fair to them and you know it.”

He'd agreed...laying there with them in silence for a while until Murphy’s breathing started to grow long and even, waking him abruptly with a reminder that they'd told him they'd help him out if he needed it and well...

They'd both resisted until he'd started kissing them...each in turn, nothing random about it, insistent and demanding in a way they couldn't imagine him being.

It had brought Murphy to tears, later...sobbing into Connors shoulder that he'd hated it, that he'd felt like he was taking advantage of him, and Christ what a fuckup this whole thing was.

It was that, and where the beach had been a dream for a few short weeks it was quickly becoming an increasingly disturbing, dark dream, with too much open space to lose him in when he suddenly became ambulatory again without warning...disappearing several times to their utter and abject terror, twice brought home by neighbors and once by some random kids who'd found him wandering several miles down the beach and had the presence of mind to check his pockets, finding the little card Connor had taken to tucking into whatever clothes he had on...remarking bitterly “I feel like I should just get him a fucking dog tag”...with their address and phone number.

The fact that his ability to walk at all came and went as fluidly as his cogency only amplified their fear. What if he wandered off and simply couldn't get back?

They'd all begun to think it was time to leave the beach and go back home, or at least back to Gavin’s home, where the doors key locked on the inside and he wouldn't be able to wander off, though none of them had mentioned it yet, when Bodhi made the decision for them, looking up at Gavin one evening with an inscrutable, piercing stare...finally nodding and stating, crystal clear and without any tact at all; “We need to go, Gavin. I can't die here. It'll ruin the beach for you forever.”

That it had been on all their minds was evidenced by how quickly they pulled it together without so much as a conversation. They were in the car and on the way out of Destin the next day.

After that, it went fast.

__________________________________________________________________________________

They hadn't been home a week when he stopped getting up at all, not due to any particular inability but because he just didn't care to anymore.

When asked, if he responded at all, he told them he was tired.

His weight dropped, as his ability to swallow without choking decreased, and it was after a particularly horrid incident that Gavin got on the phone to Donovan, cursing and crying and reminding him that he'd said he was coming three weeks ago and that they needed his help, now, if they were going to keep him home.

He was there the next day, hooking up an IV but refusing to do anything more, one look at his brother telling him that there was no point.

“I'm not gonna mess around with feeding tubes and shit. He's not hungry anyway and he doesn't want me to even do this much. He's shutting down, guys, there's no getting around it. This is how it'll be. Things are just gonna stop working.”

Of Logan there was no sign, though he'd said he was coming, and it surprised neither Gavin nor Donovan.

“He's like that. He avoids. He'll turn up after he's gone, mad as hell at himself that he couldn't do it, but he really can't do it.”

“Oh yes he can.”

Connor, unwilling to give any sympathy to this whole “our family just isn't like that” bullshit, was on the phone with Logan in under a minute, approaching with sympathy and understanding, finally ending it with a flat shout “He's your fucking brother and he's dying you selfish fuck and if you don't get your ass on a plane today I'm coming to get you and you do not want me to come get you!”

It took a couple of days, but he turned up on the doorstep, twitchy and scared, both of the impending death and the twins, but he was there.

If Bodhi knew any of them were there was an open question. He seemed to, watching them doing whatever they were doing, grasping whatever hand held his, slipping an arm around Matty every time he climbed into bed or onto the sofa with him...something he did now regularly, clinging to him with a desperation that tore at all of them.

He'd taken Murphy completely apart one morning, coming to him, intensely serious, wanting to know when Bodhi was going to get better.

Murphy'd been shocked for a minute...he knew Matthew knew the situation...but it hadn't taken much explanation to make him understand where this was coming from.

“Murphy, YOU were dying. Being with Connor fixed you. You say it all the time, he's the only reason you're still alive. I was dying and being with you fixed me. Cody was dying and being with me fixed him. Me and him, we fixed each other. Gavin is RIGHT THERE and I know they have the same thing we all do because they told me. So why isn't it working?”

That they didn't really know the answer was galling, but it was what it was, and the only answer he could give him was that it just wasn't. That there were some kinds of rules to it that they didn't know, that they weren't meant to know, maybe, that maybe just when it was time it was time and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Matty, I know these answers suck, but I just don't know. I thought it would work, y'know? I thought bringing him here would fix it. It's why I made him come.”

“It's good that you did, even if it didn't fix it, but Murphy, WHY?”

“I already told you. I don't know. I wish I could change it.”

He couldn't change it, and not two weeks after their return home it had become a vigil, though none of them spoke of it. They didn't leave the house much, though one or the other of them brought the twins to school...a sore point given that they were in different grades, Matthew so undereducated that they'd had to fight to get him even into a regular class...and picked them up again, and someone always made sure there were groceries. Beyond that their worlds had narrowed to the house, the porch, each other, and Bodhi.

It was Murphy who warned them that the time was really upon them, and it was Bodhi who had warned him, though only Connor and Gavin took it seriously, having already experienced this particular reality themselves.

It'd been a dream, though at the time he hadn't realized it. He'd been asleep, for the first time in a while deeply asleep, and a hard shake had brought him up, blinking up at a smiling Bodhi, shaking his head and looking absolutely like himself.

“Hard enough to wake up, aren't you. When you sleep you don't mess around.”

It hadn't tipped him off. Not right away. The conversation had been grim enough to be real.

“Murphy, I need you to pay attention. This...really. Pay attention.”

“I am, I'm paying attention. What...”

“You can't let Matty sleep with me anymore.”

“He doesn't…”

“He does. He gets up every night and gets in bed with me. I'm almost gone, Murphy. He can't wake up some morning and find me dead in the bed next to him. You can't let that happen, it'd wreck him.”

He'd said it so dispassionately...his voice so neutral...

“This is a dream, isn't it.”

“Of course it's a dream, do you think I can get up and talk to you any other way? It's really me, don't think for a minute you're imagining this. But yes it's a dream.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed...and his weight brought it down, prompting Murphy to reach out and touch him. There...completely there. Real. He could feel him, feel his warmth, smell that clean, soapy Bodhi smell...

“You're real.”

“Of course I'm real, don't be an idiot. Honestly, Murphy, I thought you'd have enough experience dealing in this state to get it.”

“I do. I just...fuck.”

“Oh now don't cry. Murphy. MURPHY!”

“What!”

“Don't. It's gonna be ok. If I hug you will you go to pieces?”

“Yes but do it anyway.”

He had, and he'd been real. Heartbreakingly, insanely real and he'd woken Connor, crying in his sleep, Bodhi's words ringing in his head.

He'd told them, and he agreed wholeheartedly that the last thing in the world his son needed was to wake up with a dead body, but breaking him of the habit seemed impossible. They did everything short of locking him in his room and Connor had finally, in utter exasperation, asked him if he really had any idea why they didn't want him to do it.

He'd looked him in flat in the eye, nodding.

“Yes. You don't want him to die while I'm sleeping with him. He already told me. And I told HIM and I'm gonna tell YOU...I'm sleeping with him.”

“But Matty...”

“It's not gonna happen like you think. He's BODHI.”

It was all the explanation he'd give them, and he wouldn't stop.

In the end, it didn't happen the way they'd thought, and it was very much because he was Bodhi. Donovan, skeptical of Murphy’s dream but agreeing completely that they were down to days...if that...had taken the warning seriously and let all of them know that they were in it, now.

The twins refused to go to school, and unable to come up with any valid argument, they let them stay, fighting their collective nerves, anxiety and grief in an eerie silence, going through cigarettes, coffee and whiskey in amazing quantities, everyone somehow remaining obnoxiously sober.

They'd known they were there when he got agitated, moving abruptly from that slow, faded drowse he seemed to exist in solely and into a lucid, freaked out restlessness...unable to stay still, sitting up, lying down, forcing them to get him up, let him walk, let him sit in different chairs. He'd suddenly wanted…needed...to go outside, unable to settle on the porch but going in and out over and over and over again, touching everything in the house, every person in the house, making rounds and then going back outside...seemingly no end to this frenetic energy that had taken him over.

He'd been able to answer them for the first time since their return, telling them that no he wasn't thirsty, no he wasn't hungry, no he didn't need anything he just needed to be THERE. He'd pulled Matthew in close, nodding at Cody's immediate retreat...knowing this moment was for his twin, this was HIS person, after all....and marveling again at another set of MacManus twins.

“Murphy Jesus they're just like you.”

He hadn't waited for any kind of comment, whispering something to Matthew that sounded like “Remember what I told you”, waiting for his nod and then getting up, making those rounds of everyone again, whispering something to Cody that none of them heard and that he never told, but whatever it was it had made him laugh...really laugh, lighting up for a moment like the sun...and they were grateful for whatever secret it was.

He'd finally begun to wind back down as the sun dropped, and his final…waking...words to Murphy were as perfect as any that could ever be uttered.

He'd been eyeballing the whiskey, not saying anything, just staring at it, and Murphy had noticed, quipping “Want a shot? Not like you gotta worry about it.”

Bodhi's eyes had gone narrow, and in a moment he'd become the Bodhi they'd first met, reluctantly unimpressed with them and impressed as hell, a Saints fanboy all the way.

“I love you Murphy, but shut the fuck up.”

He'd pulled him in and hugged him, laughed a little and let him go and after that there really wasn't anything much more. He just went back to bed, still a little wound up but not enough to get him back up, still lucid but not enough to keep him talking, and he'd drifted off.

Murphy, dozing up in the loft, woke to find him sitting cross legged on the futon, shaking him awake none too gently and staring down at him with a faint panicked expression.

“Murphy, wake up! Go get your son and get him now. NOW. I'm not kidding. I've been yakking at him all night but he's not moving. He's as stubborn as you are. Wake up now and go get him.”

He'd followed it up with a good, hard...SOLID...smack in the head and he'd come awake suddenly and completely, already halfway down the ladder before he realized he was moving.

He didn't have to run...he found Matthew standing at the foot of Bodhi's bed, wide awake and perturbed.

“He told me to wake up and get outta bed. I KNEW he was gonna do this.”

He looked at Murphy, entirely serious and more than a little pissed off.

“He got me in a dream. Told me that where we were was where he was gonna have to stay, that he wasn't gonna be able to come back. To wake up. He threatened to pee on me, Murphy.”

Stifling a laugh, able to almost hear it, he sobered immediately at the near rage on his son's face.

“It's not funny! I just wanted to BE with him.”

“I know. But not...”

“That's what he said. He said it could be UNPLEASANT. He just about kicked me right out of his bed, Murphy.”

“Don't be mad at him, Matty. He just didn't want you to wake up and find him gone.”

“Well he's not gone.”

“No, I can see that, but if he said he can't come back...why don't you sit with him, Matty. JUST sit. Hold his hand if you want to, I'm gonna go get the others. Do NOT get in bed with him, that would be so unfair to him. He's gone to a lot of work to make sure you're ok, don't make him work any more.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean most people just go, Matty. They just go. So...just sit with him I'll be right back.”

He'd been right back, it hadn't been five minutes...more like three...but it was three too many. He'd known as soon as he walked in and seen Matthew, still sitting on the bed, but with his hands folded in his lap...calm hands now, no knots...lips tight, expression utterly unreadable...combined with the utterly Bodhiless atmosphere.

“Oh Bodhi, really? You couldn't have waited five goddamn minutes?”

He'd barely whispered, not sure he'd even said it at all, felt Connors kick and knew he had, felt Gavin's hand on his shoulder and heard his voice...too much like Bodhi's now, he didn't want to hear him....oft in his ear.

“It's ok, we didn't miss him. He said goodbye. I don't think he missed anyone.”

“No, I don't guess he would have...”

He broke off when he felt Connor pull away, slipping out the door silently and without a word, the line in his mind telling him that Bodhi hadn't missed Connor, either, but also that it wasn't helping.

He glanced down at his boys, saw them pulling together, winding into each other, up at Gavin as he joined his own brothers, sighed to himself and went after his own.


	104. Chapter 104

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to my friend lea_ysaye, who formatted and posted this chapter for me during my internet outage! If that weren't enough, she's formatting the rest of this monster into coherence, as well. ♡☆

He found him at the river, sitting, smoking, staring out into the muddy brown with a vacancy that chilled Murphy to the bone.

"Con..."

"Yeah Murph. Don't worry."

He flicked the cigarette into the water and turned those flat, empty eyes on his brother, his next words freezing the blood in Murphy’s veins with their disconnected dissonance.

"Still here. Oh, it's right there. I can see it. It's like some doorway into nothing just...shining like a heat wave just inside my brain. And it's tempting, brother. It is. All this trouble, and look what it got him. They just don't get it, and in the end nothing anyone says means a thing, does it? Or anything they do. Anything anybody does. I mean...if there's a game there are no rules, no conditions of play. Get on the board and duke it out however you feel like with whatever goal you have in mind and who cares if it matches up with whatever anyone else is playing?"

"You're not makin sense, brother."

More than that, he wasn't THINKING sense. Linked in, all Murphy could find was chaos, and a head full of random babble, as un-Connor as anything he'd ever imagined.

"Because I'm half in it, Murph."

He turned to him...the move was sudden and cobra quick and Murphy felt his heart stutter...seized his arms and gripped tight, squeezing to the point of pain and beyond.

"Nothing we did, nothing we've ever done or ever do really means a goddamn thing when we can't even help one of the very very few decent people left in the world. One I happened to love, not that I can speak for you..."

"CONNOR!"

Horrified disbelief ran from him, deflecting off his brother, who seemed have encased himself in some terrible reflective bubble.

"Since WHENN can you not speak for me!? We speak for each other! What I know you know, what you feel I feel..."

"Not anymore, Murph. It doesn't do any good."

He let him go, shoving him roughly and for a second Murphy felt himself tip on the edge of balance, the river too close and too greedy hungry for his already ruined nerves and he felt tears welling in his eyes, filling his throat, terror bright and metallic in his mouth.

"Connor, don't."

"I won't. I know how he's gonna feel, brother, d'you think I'd do it to you?

"Right now I don't know what you'd do."

He didn't. This was so unlike his brother just recognition was iffy.

"Murphy, I saw him. Last night. I know..."

He waved off any comment, dismissive and cold.

"Everyone did.    Everyone got their sweet goodbyes."

Murphy heard the bitterness and felt an enormous sympathy pulling at him. What had he had, then, if not a goodbye? And why was it so invisible.

"Me, I got a warning. And a...a preview, if you will, brother. Of my own eventual fate and it's nothing pretty."

"What..."

"Oh, we'll all see. Soon enough. There'll be no avoiding it. And I've been given to understand that there's one possibility...one tiny raft that might get him through if he can recognize it, grab onto it...and if it doesn't sink. Other than that, we'll lose him, too, and in the most horrific way you can...hell you can't imagine it. I can't imagine it and he showed it to me. And it's what's waiting for me, too. Or you if I should be so inconsiderate as to die before you do. And your sons....it's their birth right as well, brother. And stop trying because I'll never let you look. Not that it matters because you’re going to see it anyway."

Murphy, unable to connect to him, trapped outside the bubble and completely at a loss, slid in close and reached for him on instinct...suddenly breathless as the unexpected impact with the stony bank of the river drove the breath from his lungs.

"Don't you fucking touch me."

The disgust in his brothers voice eclipsed even the shock of having been pushed away...knocked down with enough force that he could feel the hot trickle of blood running along his back where stones had cut in.

"If you hadn't brought them together...and what good did it do? Huh? You didn't save him and you only made his brothers hell that much worse. You brought your boys together and you may have saved one of them, but all you did was buy him some time until he has to meet THIS and believe me, death is infinitely preferable. And of course it's all on us brother because we LET him die."

Murphy, well beyond any descriptive...terror, horror, grief...none of them touched what he was feeling now as he looked into the pulverising vacancy that had been Connor, stayed down, stayed quiet as his brother stood, gazing down at him with utter loathing.

"I want you to imagine, Murphy. Every single cell in your body ripped apart one by one...and then set on fire. Burning. Your blood boiling in your veins. But cold, brother. COLD. And empty. Hollow. The one and only thing you'll ever need...and it's a need so powerful it's driving you insane...the one thing you know you'll NEVER. EVER. Have again.  You got that? And when you see it...remember that it's because of you."

Something flickered in his eyes, some mute appeal, and in all likelihood Murphy was the only human being alive who ever would have noticed it and recognized it for what it was.

"Where ARE you, Con?"

His voice was soft...partly because he was too scared to get enough breath for volume, partly because he was still winded from the impact of the fall...but it had come to him, immediate and absolute, that Connor was not exactly...here right now, and of these words and actions, seemingly intended only to hurt...and it was dawning quickly on Murphy that they weren't an attack but a warning...he was blameless.

His brother shook his head, looking down at him now in confusion and crazed, baffled grief.

"I don't know."

"Can you come back?"

He sat up slowly, noting Connors stance as he moved...alert and ready to strike.

"Can you come back to me?"

"I don't know."

Words from a vacancy, but Murphy could see him in there.

"He took you somewhere, didn't he. He showed you something...warned you about something..."

"He did, brother."

"And now you're stuck."

"No. Now I'm thinking."

Nodding, reaching down the link, prodding, pulling, digging....he found him and sighed. Too caught up in the message of a dream, tangled in grief and guilt and fear and paralyzed by some strange and terrifying new knowledge, he was close to falling, close to abandoning all of this pain for the peace of nothingness, lashing out at Murphy because...well...who else was there?

Well alright then.

He was at Connors side before his brother ever saw him move, arms around him now the arms of the Saint, and there would be no knocking him down...knocking him away...this time.

He felt him struggle, ignored it, and hung on, arms too tightly wound around him to shake off, hands winding into his hair and gripping...gasping in sudden, breath-taking pain as Connors teeth sank deep into the space between his neck and shoulder, and for a minute he couldn't exhale.

"Christ fucking...."

He didn't let go. Hung on even as his own blood coursed down his side...and his brother, sanity hanging by a thread, laughed in his ear.

"I can do worse, brother, and will if you don't let me go."

"I know you can."

He waited...one beat...two...and felt it. The slip in Connors guard as he tried to judge what would hurt enough to make Murphy let him go...and slid in...through the bubble and into his brother, into himself...Connors fury and relief mingling with his own, equal measures hate love rage blessed relief and now he had him.

His brother’s grief roared into him as the dream that held him captive faded and with it he felt those struggle arms first go limp, then tighten around him, felt his brother’s mute, crazed apology crackling through his mind and out on his words.

"Murphy, I'm so sorry, I'm so..."

"Ssshh. It's ok, you're ok."

"It's..."

"Connor. Ssssh."

He silenced him with one mental stroke, everything he could have ever thought to say contained in that one ringing touch of their minds, and felt his brother step back from the edge...wincing as he turned his head and rested it on Murphy's lacerated shoulder...felt him shaking....now only in grief. Exhausted and just....so sad. Infinitely sad. But sane.

"Murphy, we let him die."

"We didn't, Con. He just died. "

"We could've at least tried."

"We did. We came all the way here. There wasn't anything anyone could have done, not even us."

God, he hated seeing him like this. His own sadness, his own grief...so much easier to take than Connors.

He eased his grip a little, no longer restraining,  just holding, one hand falling into those soothing little tracings as he felt some of the tension leaving Connor's body, felt him press in tight, stiffen again and pull back, bloodied and horrified.

"I bit you!"

"Yes, you did."

"Murph...."

"Let it go. I already have. Connor...."

"No, Murphy, for fucksake, you're bleeding..."

"I'm fine. You've hurt me way worse than this, and meant to do it as well, so really...."

He pulled back a little more, looked into his brothers eyes.

"What'd he show you?"

"I'm not sure it was him, brother. It was someone..."

He pulled away completely, reclaiming his own space, and pulled out a smoke, lighting it and handing it to Murphy before lighting his own.

"Some THING maybe."

"But what'd you see?"

"What's going to happen to Gavin.  And to us. And your boys. The rest of the birth right."

"Tell me."

"I don't think I can."

He shook his head, gesturing at nothing with the cigarette. 

"It'll be right in front of all of us as soon as that link....Murph, we think we've felt this connection we have quit but we haven't. We haven't. And...brother it'd honestly be best to just...if one of us goes, the other one needs to just do himself in because I don't see any coming back from what's about to happen. Gavin...what he's going to...if we have any love for him at all, or any mercy anywhere in us the kindest thing we could do would be to just put a bullet in his brain before it starts."


	105. Chapter 105

“Come on, guys. You don’t want to watch this.”

They hadn’t left Bodhi’s side, either of them, two identical bundles of sadness sitting obvious guard with no qualms about voicing their concerns.

Though, at 7, they understood the idea of death, their grasp of the concept was mystifying and vague and of the mechanics of the process they had no clue. That they were keeping watch over a vacancy seemed clear to them….but they had no intention of leaving until they knew what was going to happen to him and the arrival of the coroner’s van had only amped their anxiety.

 

“But where are they gonna take him?”

Matty...far more concerned than Cody because, after all, Bodhi had been HIS...resisting with every ounce of strength he had, shook off Gavin’s hand. There would be no ushering him out until it was on his terms.

“What are they gonna DO to him?”

“Don’t do this, Matty. Just...Murphy, just take him will you?”

Murphy... who had been trying to do exactly that and finding it somewhat akin to trying to pick up the Tasmanian devil...eyed him in frustration.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

He turned to the people in the hall, waiting with their accoutrements of civilized death, shaking his head.

“Give us a minute more? I really don’t want to wrestle him out and make this any worse than it is.”

“You don’t need another minute.”

Gavin’s voice was rising as the stress of the day wore through his nerves.

“Matty, you see that stretcher out there? That black thing on it, that’s a big bag with a zipper. They’re gonna pick him up out of bed and put him in that bag and zip him up. All the way, over his face and everything. Then they’re gonna carry him out like a big bag of trash. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

He’d said it mildly...even gently…but the horror in Matthews’s eyes couldn’t have been more if he’d shouted it and as the blood drained from his face as he stood there, Murphy felt him link their hands and squeeze….hard.

“Murphy, is he lying?”

“No. He’s not lying, come on out with me. I don’t want to watch either.”

He shot a venomous glare at Gavin, hearing Connor’s angry hiss; “Why did you say that?” as he turned away, steering both boys out of the room and into the kitchen out of view.

“Murphy…”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry he said that.”

“He’s not trash, Murphy.”

“No, he’s not, and they’ll not treat him as if he is.”

He didn’t at all like the bloodless look of his son’s face, the glaze skimming his eyes, and his concern only mounted when Cody...as connected now to his twin as Murphy was to Connor...stepped in and slid his arms around him, hugging him tight, looking up at Murphy.

“Are they really gonna do that?”

“You never mind worrying about that.”

Connor, seething, stepped into the room, taking in the three of them with a sigh.

“They’ll not hurt him, my word on that, and they’ll not treat him rudely, but it’s a sad thing to see. He wouldn’t want your last memory of him to be something that sad and that’s why you’re not to watch, am I clear? He wouldn’t like it.”

For Cody it was enough, and his nod was accepting and agreeable. For Matty….faced with the loss of the one person in his world he’d known forever...the visual in his mind was too much, and Murphy could feel him shaking...even wrapped up in his twin...could feel his heart beating, bird fast and hard enough that he could see the pulse beat in his neck.

“Matty, c’mon and sit down. Cody, let him go for a minute.”

He led him to the table, not at all liking his sudden soft pliability, and settled him in a chair, reaching out without a word or a look to take the ice water Connor held out for him.

“Matty, d’you feel sick?”

He knew he did, he could see it, and the little nod at least settled his mind that the kid wasn’t shutting down.

“Sip this, nice and slow.”

“Murphy I might throw up.”

“If you do, you do, and you’re not to worry about it. I feel a little like it myself.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Nor I.”

He sighed, making a little space as Cody clambered into his lap...an entirely atypical move he wasn’t about to discourage...and reached across the table, sliding the ice water toward his twin.

“Do what he tells you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“If you don’t you’re gonna puke.”

“So?”

“So it’s gross!”

“You’re gross.”

Connor, seeing Murphy on the edge of simply giving up, putting his head down on the table and letting them duke it out between them, slid a chair out and sat down, reaching for and catching a small hand in each of his.

“Enough from both of you. This isn’t the time to be bickering. We’ll need to be together now, d’you understand? Matthew, you do what Murphy said and you drink that.”

“I will. I’m ok without it, though. This doesn’t seem very much like a train.”

Cody nodded, in total agreement with what seemed to the adults to be a completely nonsensical statement.

“It doesn’t!”

“What train, what’re you two talking about? Murphy...” Connor’s voice took on a new note of concern as he eyed his brother. “You’re not lookin so good, you ok?”

“I suppose so.”

In truth he was about as exhausted as he could ever remember being, and he could feel himself starting to shiver. Riding the edge of a devastation he could find no equal to, it was taking everything in him to hold himself together for the kids, and part of him kept remembering being told it was stupid to be ashamed to just...be...in front of his sons.

Still…

“I’m alright. What train?”

“Connor’s right.”

Cody, running a critical eye over him, shook his head.

“You don’t look very good.”

“You don’t.”

Great, both of them.

“Thanks a lot to the two of you for pointing out that I look as shitty as I feel. Now what train?”

“Bodhi said this was just getting off a train.”

He waited, expectantly, knowing there had to be more, somewhat stymied when they failed to clarify, glancing helplessly at Connor when they simply sat, brooding and sad.

“I know what they mean.”

Donovan, leaning in the doorway, beckoned the kids out of the room.

“Go on you two and hang out in the TV room for a bit. We need to figure some things out. It won’t be long, don’t worry, but I need to be able to concentrate and the two of you ruin me for that.”

“Where’s Gavin?”

“He’s in his room, you just leave him be for a little while.”

“I don’t have to leave him be.”

Cody...well versed in Gavin and certainly steeped in his own house rules wasn’t about to let some stranger walk in and tell him how it went.

“No matter what I can always go find him. His rule.”

He slid from Murphy’s lap and grabbed his brother’s hand, pulling him along.

“We’ll leave you alone cuz you say you can’t think but you don’t tell me where to go in my house.”

He whispered something to Matthew and they slipped from the room, leaving Donovan shaking his head as he sank into a chair.

“That kid’s a piece of work, Murphy. It’s sure clear my brother raised him. Or they’re raising each other, it’s a little bit murky in that aspect. Is there any liquor left?”

Connor, wordless, reached behind him and handed off a whiskey bottle, shooting Murphy a glare that dared him to so much as think about it.

“What’s this train thing you seem to understand? No...”

He waved away the offer of the bottle, again eyeing Murphy.

“If I want to maintain any kind of sanity right now I think sober is the way to go, much as I hate it. Tell me what they were talking about, now.”

“Tell us both.”

“Well of course both of us, y’…”

“STOP. God, you’re as bad as the kids. Bodhi told them that dying was just getting off a train at your stop. It was while we were still at the beach.”

 

He’d walked by the room, surprised to hear Bodhi’s voice….clear and lucid...drifting down the hall, and peeked in to see Bodhi...cross legged and guru like on his bed...freaking Donovan out slightly with his uncut hair now well past his shoulders and the facial hair he’d given up worrying about making him look unsettlingly Jesus like….both boys crowded in close and hanging on his every word.

He hadn’t wanted to interrupt but he’d stopped to listen.

They were worried he was afraid to die and his answer blew Donovan away.

“No, course I’m not.”

He’d pulled them even closer, trapping their feet beneath his solely for the giggles.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just getting where you’re going, that’s all it is.”

Matthew, whose idea of death was vague but decidedly nightmarish, chimed in dubiously.

“I don’t know, I’ve been stuck dead. It wasn’t like getting anywhere.”

“Honey, you weren’t dead.”

“You weren’t, don’t be crazy.”

“Shut up, you weren’t there.”

“DON’T fight guys. Don’t. I don’t want to have to kick you out. For your information, Matthew, it IS just finishing a trip. It’s like...when you’re born, you get on the train, and the train is your life. Your whole life. You get a ticket to ride to the next stop...hopefully by the time you get there you’ll have learned a little something to take back with you, since that’s the whole point. You don’t always get on the train at the same time as the people you love, but you find their car eventually and then you get to ride with them for a while. You almost never get off at the same time and that’s where it gets awkward because you all get used to each other and get all weird when it’s time for someone to go. But see...when your stop comes you have to get off the train…your trip’s over.”

He’d shifted a little, always uncomfortable now, shoving them around into more comfortable spots for him.

“The good thing about what’s happening with me is…I get to know ahead of time that my stops coming. It’s a lot better than just not knowing and then BAM! Kicked off the train. No time to say g’bye or anything. Me….I got tons of time. I can not only say goodbye but I can unplug my charger, make sure I’ve got my phone, check the overhead compartment...decide who gets my stuff too.”

“What you mean, you?”

“Well...you don’t get to take anything with you, so all your stuff gets left behind.”

“Then why you need your cell phone?”

“I won’t but it’d be rude to leave it behind in everyone’s way, now, wouldn’t it? This way...if there’s things I have that I know someone needs I can make sure they get it. If there’s things I have that I think someone might like, I can make sure it goes to them.”

“You got a lot of stuff?”

“Sure I do. Why?”

He’d grinned at him...such a brilliant Bodhi grin that Donovan had wanted to hug him….and kicked him toward the edge of the bed.

“Why? You want my stuff, Jeeves?”

Cody, unphased, only shrugged.

“I don’t know. Is it good stuff?”

“Well course it is, I got no junk.”

“So…”

Matty, unamused by any of it and clearly disturbed, had climbed into his lap, pressing his face against his shoulder and Bodhi’s arms went around him instantly.

“If it’s just a train can’t you just ride with me to MY stop?”

“No, honey. I can’t. It’s not the way it works. If you get on a train with a ticket to Atlanta, they won’t let you ride all the way to Boston. You got to get off when your ticket says. When my stop comes, Matty...I HAVE to get off. But it’s ok. “

“You aren’t scared what it’ll be like?”

“No. I mean...I’ve been there before, we all have. We just don’t remember it. Wherever we were before we were here….it’s there. It’s just...going back home, Matty.”

“No.”

He’d been fighting tears the whole time, finally stopped and just let them spill over.

“It’s not going home, THIS is home! With ME is home, Bodhi. Why do you want to leave?”

“I don’t. And I’ll miss you. But even though I don’t want to, I still have to. It’s the rules.”

“The rules suck!”

“Sometimes they do.”

“Well can I get off with you?”

“NO!”

He’d snapped before he realized it, so horrified at the thought.

“No...Matty….very bad idea. Very much against the rules.”

“And you don’t remember where it is or what it’s like?”

“No.”

“Well why not? You’re smart…”

“Why don’t you? You were there last. You only been gone seven years. I been gone 28. If any one of us should remember it should be you so off my case.”

 

The chit chat had continued for a while, but the gist of it was done, and Donovan smiled as he relayed what he remembered of it even as his eyes glimmered.

“Best way to explain it I’ve ever heard. Matty hassled the shit outta him, y’know.”

“No…”

“OH yeah. He pestered him not to die until I was afraid he might just flee. I was there one day when Matty was on him and Bodhi just finally looked at me and said “PLEASE….don’t let him do this to me.”

“Aw no…”

“He got over it. And by the end he was so ready even Matty understood and he’d stopped picking on him. He came to me the other day and said “He’s hurting a lot, huh?” I told him that yeah, he was. He said “Will it quit when his stop comes?” I told him none of us remembered, but yeah, we thought so.  
He said “Then I hope it comes soon. I don’t want him to go but I want him to feel better.”

He swiped at his eyes, smiling a little.

“He’s such a goddamned sweet kid, Murphy. Hell, so was Bodhi. Sweet....It’s a damn shame, all this.”

“It is.”

“Listen...what I wanted to talk to you guys about.”

“Yeah…”

“Gavin. I’m gonna stay around a while. I mean...he and Bodhi made all the arrangements ahead of time and he doesn’t need me for anything but...they were as connected once as the two of you…”

“They still were.”

“Y’think?”

“I’m sure”

“Well…all the more reason then. Will you guys stick around for a while as well? I just….he’s lost his twin. When you take Cody….”

“I’m not taking Cody. I’m not taking either of them anywhere.”

“No? You gonna just move in with my brother, then?”

“Hardly.”

“So….what are you...y'know, never mind. But for now...just stay around. I think...I think he’s gonna need everyone with him to have any chance at all of getting through this in any way intact."

He paused for a minute, idly tipping the whiskey bottle in his hand.

'Murphy, I'm so goddamn grateful to you for getting them back together. God knows what it would have been like for him if this'd happened while they were apart. It was never Gavin, y'know, who wanted them to stay away from each other. It was Bodhi. He was dead sure that if he stayed around Gavin would die. That the connection would just drag them both down. He didn't want to be away from him but he was afraid for him."

"Wasn't it Gavin kept leaving?"

"Sure, but it wasn't because of Bodhi, or us...it was because of you. He didn't want to ever see the two of you."

"Us..."

"As far as he was concerned you almost got his twin killed...and then when Bodhi got sick, Gavin was convinced it was the gunshot wound killing him slow. He blamed the two of you entirely. He HATED both of you. If it hadn't been for Logan bringing him Cody..."

"How'd that happen, Don?"

"And why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't know! I found out when you did. Oh, I knew they had been twins but I thought one of them was stillborn. We all did. Twin to twin transfusion syndrome. She told all of us that only the little one survived. Even Bodhi didn't know. Logan though, he was there. He saw the other baby, saw he was as sick as the little one...heart failure. Too much fluid. Too much blood. Matty was given no chance to live at all. She told Logan that if the little one died he'd better make sure the big one did too...that he was a monster who had been killing his twin all this time. Then she decided he had to be killed anyway, regardless."

Connor's sound of disgust resonated through the kitchen.

"Augh she was crazy even then."

"She was. Logan wasn't about to let her murder her child. He took him. Told Maura he was dead. Made sure nobody knew he was alive because if anyone knew, she might find out. You know how that place works by now, it's no stretch to get people to lie."

"No, it's not at that."

"Logan said he figured...if she ever found out about him, the one place she'd never think to look was with Gavin, because he hated you both so much there was no way in the world he'd ever take care of one of your kids. Pretty genius on Logan’s part. Not only did he take care of him, I think he loves him as much as he loves Bodhi."

"He does. I'll not be takin' him, so stop thinking it."

"He doesn't hate the two of you anymore, either. Cody may be a handful but he's quite the little peacemaker. It's funny..."

He eyed them both, taking in the changes in them since they'd left Boston.

"They're so much like the two of you you'd be hard put not to think they were somehow both of yours. But they shift. I kept thinking Matty was so much like you, Murphy. Cody so much like Connor. But then they shifted and I thought "well, I had that one wrong" until they shifted back. And look at what they've done to the two of you. The change in you both is remarkable. Those kids....there's a lot more going on there than meets the eye."

He sat back, taking them in, taking in the room.

"I don't know why I think this but Gavin...I think he'll hang on until everything's done. Most of it is already, but for getting him buried. I think Gavin'll make it through all that, but once it's done..."

He cut himself off, tracing designs in the whiskey drops on the table.

"Y'know, I called Terry before I came in here. Asked him if there was any documentation on the loss of one of you twin sets. You're aware your entire genealogy is lousy with twins?"

"Not really...we know right now it's insane how many twins are in this house, but..."

"Believe me there are more. I asked him to check and see if there's anything...he didn't find anything specific to anyone related to you, but he did uncover a statistic that says less than fifty percent of people who lose an identical twin survive more than two years and that's normal people with normal twins. This...connection...it's not just mental as you both well know. It's highly physical. I..."

"You're afraid he won't survive it."

"I am."

"As am I."

Connor was up now, pacing, ignoring Murphy's attempts to sooth him.

"I dreamed of Bodhi…while he was saying goodbye to the rest of you he was telling me not to let his twin die. All I kept seeing was blood....pain. He was screaming and....fuck."

"Conn..."

"No, no, because you both know as well as I that it was no mere dream. It was what's coming and it was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. He made it clear, too....your sweet brother...that it's what every set of us has to look forward to if we lose our twin. He as much as rubbed it in my face that Murph's next and me right behind him, and he may as well have drawn a skull and crossbones over the boys. Sorry, but the Bodhi who came to me may as well have been the devil showing me hell."

He forced himself to breathe and moved to stand behind Murphy, letting his twin lace their fingers together.

"He told me that there was a chance he'd make it, that there was a...a raft that could get him across, but it was small and...fragile. That it might go down with him. He didn't tell me what it was."

Murphy, surprised that he didn't see it, twisted around to look into his face.

"Seems obvious, brother."

"Oh and how is it obvious?"

"It's Cody."


	106. Chapter 106

The thump that woke him wasn't immediately alarming, and certainly didn't in any way signal the beginning of the most frightening experience of his life.

It was just a thump, not particularly loud or jarring and not really interesting enough to pull him all the way from sleep and he'd begun to drift off once more when it came again.

"What the fuck IS that?"

Neither the noise, nor his whispered question were enough to rouse Connor, but the low volume series of clatters that came now were plenty to get Murphy out of bed, and he was reaching for the shorts thrown haphazardly in a pile when he heard the crash of broken glass, another...much more jarring this time...thump and a groan.

Glancing at Connor, still undisturbed, he slipped out the door, padding barefoot across the yard...waiting to step on a bug, a sticker, or some other article of impalement…and wondering how in the world a sound from the house could carry all the way out to them.

It didn't take him six steps to figure it out, as the groan came again, followed by a string of swears...directly out the open back bathroom window.

He let himself in quietly...though not quietly enough for Gavin, who knew every sound his house could possibly make, and whose voice now drifted from the bathroom, miserable and edgy, not quite panicked but riding the line.

"Which one of you is that?"

"Murphy. You ok?"

He stepped through the bathroom doorway to see Gavin sitting on the edge of the tub, blood...glimmering black in the moonlight...running from his forehead through the fingers he held against the cut, streaking his arm, his bare leg, splashed onto the floor.

"Jeeesus what'd you do? Let me see..."

"Watch the glass, watch the glass...you're barefoot."

"I see it. What happened?"

"I don't know. I'm so fuckin HOT Murphy. I feel like my blood's boiling."

"Can I turn on the light?"

"I don't care."

He flipped the switch, picked his way around the glass and reached to touch his friend’s forehead...expecting heat...surprised to find it cool, lightly perspiring in the heat of the night.

"You don't feel hot. Lemme see what you did."

"I whacked it on the edge of the sink I think. I came in for water and got dizzy..."

He dropped his hand, revealed a purple knot the size of a plum, bleeding freely from a gash in the center.

"Geez, good one Gavin. You wanna let me clean that up?"

"Are you gonna give me a choice?"

"No, not really."

"Be my guest, then."

He sighed as he watched Murphy dig for supplies, reluctantly impressed that something gone awry with the people Murphy now considered his family could bring him even in the middle of the night and from another building.

"Just don't hang on me."

In truth, he was more than a little irritated. Never overly touchy he'd been trying to deal with a grief that seemed overwhelming in a household full of clingers...forced to choke down any display of emotion if he didn't want to immediately find himself wearing someone and it was grating on him more by the day.

He'd gone to bed thinking that it might be for the best to gather up Cody and head to Pensacola and leave the whole nest full of them behind...and now here he was being tended to.

"I won't hang on you, what the fuck. Take your hand down. You still dizzy? Your eyes are goin..."

He was...increasingly so and it was starting to make him feel seasick.

"Yeah. But mostly I'm just so fuckin HOT."

"You're not, though."

"Maybe not from out there but from in here it fucking hurts, Murphy."

He'd been grateful for the coolness of the cloth Murphy was using to wipe the blood from his face, hissing now in pain as a cotton ball full of alcohol touched the open wound.

"Sorry, but it was all you had down here."

"Yeah, the painless kid stuff is in the other bathroom. It's..."

He stopped, swallowed...so dizzy now he couldn't focus on anything, nausea beginning to lick from his stomach into his throat.

"Fuck, I really don't feel good."

"I can see that. Don't move from that spot, there's glass all over the fuckin place. I'm gonna get you some ice water, ok?"

"Yes! Please, fucking God bless you."

"Uh huh."

He was filling a glass with ice when he heard the snick of a door and looked over his shoulder to see one of his kids, and damned if he could tell by moonlight which kid it was, awash in sudden eeriness as the words that immediately spilled from his mouth mirrored Gavin’s.

"Which one of you is that?"

"Cody. That's Gavin in there?"

"It is."

"He ok?"

"He's not feelin so good."

He saw him start for the bathroom and caught his arm.

"Wait up, put some shoes on, the floors full of glass."

"You're barefoot too."

"I know, and I don't like it."

"Wait right here. I mean it, Murphy. Wait right here."

Huffing out laughter at his thirty five year old son, he did as he was told, smiling when the kid came back a moment later with his shoes on and carrying Murphy’s flip flops.

"Here. They been in my room since the beach, them. What's wrong with Gavin?"

"Don't know. He split his head open though, whatever else. Here, go on and give him this, I'm gonna get a broom and get that glass."

He'd barely crossed the room when he heard another crash of glass and Cody's voice, raised in alarm.

"Murphy! Murphy come..."

He was already there....no memory would ever come of putting the broom down or actually leaving the kitchen...he was just there, grabbing onto Gavin even as his son struggled to keep him from hitting the floor.

"Gavin, sit back..."

He shook his head, one hand gesturing vaguely at the toilet.

"N'Murphy. Sick, lemme up..."

"Hold on…Cody, get that glass!"

"Fuck the glass!"

He pulled himself out of Murphy’s grasp, too dizzy to stand, and landed hard...Murphy swearing softly as his head hit the lip of the toilet, Cody's little whimper reaching him as he saw multiple wounds open up on Gavin's bare legs.

"Murphy..."

"I know. We'll take care of those later, don't worry. Can you go get Connor?"

"No, you get him."

Sighing, Murphy nodded, knowing it would do no good to argue. Over the past week it had become clear that, regarding Gavin, Cody was something akin to a pit bull. He wasn't about to leave his side if he could in any way avoid it, and if something was wrong there wasn't a force on the planet that would pry him away.

"I know you want to help him but clear away a spot before you get down there, I don't need both of you all cut up."

"I don't care if I get cut up!"

"I do!"

He waited for Cody’s nod, watched until he saw him kicking glass shards away and throwing a towel down, turned and ran for Connor.

 

Gavin, in the space of just a few minutes, had lost most of his grip on the world...the crisis taking place inside his body eclipsing everything, reality now a tidal thing that washed over and dragged out…disorienting...terrifying.

He hadn't been kidding when he said he felt like his blood was boiling, and though he took in enough to understand that to the people around him he was cool to the touch, he felt everything in him burning....heat and pain increasing with every passing minute until he thought he must be dead....dead and burning in hell though for what he had no idea.

The air felt molten, too liquid...too searing...to breathe, devoid of oxygen...useless unless it's only use was another form of torture, stabbing at his flaming skin with a million poisoned barbs everywhere it touched, flowing down his throat and igniting the sickness inside him, nausea now a boiling tide that continually peaked and crested and he found himself wishing for nothing more than to just be able to throw up...irrationally suddenly convinced that it would solve everything...whatever poison was in him that was burning him alive from the inside jettisoned out all at once and God it would feel wonderful.

Except that it wasn't happening, just the boil of his blood, the napalmed air, the caustic poison in his stomach...glorious new tortures added second by second in the touches of his friends who had no idea they were killing him, and he struggled to get away...catching a flash of brilliant crimson as his knee dragged through glass...laughing at the sight, happy to let some of the boiling red go, fighting off the hands...trying to help but only burning into him, trying to explain, fighting both tides....reality and that horrible sickness.

"Let me go, let me go, it hurts!"

"Gavin, you're BLEEDING."

"It's ok, it's better that way."

"It's not ok...oh don't DO that!"

He felt hands....these hands cool, these hands soothing...grab his as he pushed his fingers down his own throat, desperate to rid himself of whatever was inside him...felt those same cool hands touch his neck, his face....damping down the fire wherever they touched.

"Don't do that, Gavin."

"I need to throw up."

"Drink some water."

He drank the water, dissolved into helpless tears as it simply joined the rest of the fire inside him and the world took another leap away from him.

By the time an hour had passed the world was gone and the only thing he knew was pain....blinding, agonizing, every cell in his body burning, shredding, dissolving....reassembling to begin the process again.

Sanity...dangling by a thread that frayed with every scream....not long for existence.

 

"I don't KNOW what's wrong with him!"

Donovan, frustrated and terrified, pulled himself away from Connor, flinging an arm up to fend him off as he stepped back in.

"Back off, Connor, and listen to me. I don't KNOW! There's NOTHING wrong with him! His temps normal, his pressure's fine, he sounds like he can't breathe at all but his color is fine, if I had a sensor I could show you but I already know his osat's just fine. His pulse is a little fast but it's not dangerously fast....whatever this is, it's not in his body, Connor, it's in his head."

The screams from Gavin’s bedroom...screams that had gone on now for days...broken up only by intervals of bizarre non sleep.....hours that he would just lay there, gasping, sucking in choking, wheezing, gagging breaths so fast it was a wonder he didn't pass out, gradually amping up into full blown screaming again... spoke otherwise....it was clear to everyone watching that he was in agony....unable to tolerate the touch of anything on his body he was fighting everything, including the bed, flinging himself out of it over and over only to find that the empty space he seemed to want to occupy didn't exist....his only words...pleadings to take it away...sobbed or shrieked depending on how much contact with the material world he had at the time.

"I gave him MORPHINE, Connor! It didn't do a damn thing!"

It hadn't. It hadn't even brought him down, proof, in Donovan’s mind at least, that what was going on wasn't happening in his body.

He'd screamed himself hoarse and then screamed himself sick...finally granted the vomiting he'd longed for only to find it gave him no relief at all, though once begun it simply wouldn't stop....regardless of anything Donovan tried to do and it was clear to all of them that pharmacology wasn't going to touch this. Antiemetics, sedatives, painkillers....none of it did a thing.

He'd taken him to the ER the first night...and how many days ago that had been none of them knew... a battery of tests had revealed nothing....and the ER doctor had demanded a psyche eval.

He'd left the room to make the necessary arrangements and Donovan had gathered his brother and fled....some deep instinct telling him that locking him in a mental hospital would do nothing but allow whatever this was to kill him.

He'd brought him home, hooked up an IV that Gavin pulled out repeatedly....and settled in to wait. Wait for it to pass, wait for it to kill him, he didn't know.

Nightmarishly reminiscent of the last days with Bodhi, they took shifts....one of them always with Gavin, one of them always with the twins...who they refused to allow anywhere near any of this....one of them sleeping, if he could.

Connor....at his wits end and frustrated beyond belief that none of them seemed inclined to listen to him...battered them with the dream he'd had...the dream that had shown him this very thing and that had suggested there was a way to get him through it.

That that way was somehow Cody....something Murphy believed completely and Connor wasn't willing to entertain at all...he refused to consider and on that Donovan was completely agreed.  
That they'd had to lock him out of the room and that his distress was almost equal to Gavin's didn’t seem to touch them, and more and more it fell to Murphy to try to rectify the situation.  
How he was going to do that he wasn't sure, with his own brother and Gavin’s dead set against allowing either one of the kids in the room with Gavin.

It wasn't that it didn't make sense...he was raving, screaming...completely out of control, wracked with terrifying muscle spasms that pulled his back into an ungodly bow....Murphy had found him once bent backward with the top of his head touching his feet and if he ever got that image out of his head he thought it might only be on the day he died...and dislocated limbs. He'd stopped being continent days ago and they took turns cleaning him up, changing sheets...though clothing wasn't an issue since he wouldn't tolerate any, ripping it off the second it touched his skin...changing blankets, mopping the floor.

The words that he managed to get out were more often than not completely incoherent, though occasionally they were lucid and filled with hate for these people he considered his tormenters, and they were all in agreement that he was clinically insane.

That it would terrify the boys wasn't up for debate and Murphy held no doubt that it would.

He also knew his children...even Cody...and knew that it was far more frightening for them to hear what was going on on the other side of that locked door....to see everyone’s haggard, pale, horrified faces....than it would be to just see what was going on.

And for Cody....it was tantamount to torture. He'd taken up vigil just outside Gavin’s door, sitting there with his head on his knees, refusing to leave, refusing to eat....every scream from Gavin met with a whimper from him, and he'd begun shunning all of them, even his twin, something Murphy…and Connor though he was being bafflingly stubborn about it...knew was the worst possible sign.

He wanted...NEEDED....to be with him, knew it with every fiber of his soul...knew Gavin would die without him and that he...he was sure now...would die without Gavin. Even with Matthew...even with Murphy...who loved him, he knew, and he wished he could love him back as much as he did Gavin but just couldn't...both connected to him, both doing everything they could, he could feel himself getting weaker. Food made him sick. Sleep didn't happen, and finally, at the breaking point and seeing that Murphy was, too....he'd been sick that day, too....he couldn't eat either and had been carrying around Cody's little milk boxes, sipping on them and trying to keep going but he'd lost it and thrown up, freaking Cody out because that was how it had started with Gavin. It'd happened a couple of more times that day and it had been too much for him and that night, lying on the floor outside Gavin’s room, awake, wrapped up in Matty but even that didn't help much, he'd started to cry and hadn't been able to stop.

Matty had run for Murphy, and Murphy had talked to him for just a few minutes and Cody had seen the look in his eyes change.

For just a few seconds, he wasn't exactly Murphy. And in those few seconds, as their eyes met, Cody felt all the guilt that had been eating at him about Murphy rise up in him...suddenly there, right in the front, words in his mouth demanding to be said.

"Murphy."

He reached for his face...a gesture so ingrained in all of them that neither of them was surprised...

"I'm so, so sorry."

He was crying again, hard, and Murphy was baffled.

"Sorry for what, honey?"

"I tried, I really did."

"I'm sure you did. Tried what?"

At first he didn't think he'd get an answer, as Cody...atypical as hell for him....pressed in close and hugged him tightly enough that it hurt, crying into his chest and clinging.

"Cody...honey...just tell me. It's gonna be ok."

"It won't because it's wrong."

'What is."

"You. Gavin. I don't...Murphy, I know Matt's my brother, and I know you're his dad and that makes you mine but...."

He stopped again and pulled back, pissed off and frustrated now, driving away the exhausted tears of a moment ago, and Murphy knew where it was going, smiling a little even as he felt the ache sink in. His kid alright, to be guilty for not loving a stranger.

"Cody..."

"I know you love me! I know it, I FEEL it all the time, Murphy. And I kinda love you too, I do! But..."

"Cody, I know. I get it. Not like you love Gavin, and that's NOT wrong, honey. You don't even KNOW me."

"It is wrong."

"It's not. Not at all, not a bit. Look....you're my son, but honey...he's your dad. I already know that."

"I don't mean to not love you as much as him."

"Course you don't. And you don't have to."

"It's not gonna hurt your feelings?"

"Maybe a little. But look, as long as you don't think I totally suck..."

"I don't."

"Then we're fine. And if you want to talk about it more later we can, but there's something way more important you need to do right now."

"What?"

"Go help him."

 

It came to him just that easily. One scared little boy in the middle of the night later, he knew what he had to do.

Nodding, he kissed each of his boys on the head, and took himself down the hall to pull rank on Connor.

 

"You'll not be lettin' him in there, brother! You'll not!"

"And are y'gonna stop me, then?! You said it yourself...there's a way. We ALL know that's Cody. We ALL KNOW WHAT THIS IS Connor, but you've both got your heads so far up your asses!"

"Oh, and what is it then, brother, besides he's disconnected from his twin and it's killing him!"

"That's EXACTLY what it is, but Connor! He HAS someone he's connected to still, if you'd just let him get near enough! We've HAD this conversation and I'm not havin' it again. If we don't do something they're BOTH gonna die, do you not see that?"

"Cody..."

"Hasn't eaten a bite in days...he can't. He gets sick every time he tries! He hasn't slept...he can't. He just doesn't drop off and I know because I've been the one up with him every night."

"You..."

"Connor. He's not your son."

It cut to the quick and he knew it, but he had to do what he had to do, and Connor’s next question....heartbroken and also heartfelt, completely sincere, did nothing but strengthen his knowledge that this was what needed to happen....in fact, had needed to happen and if they hadn't cost two people their lives with their dithering around they'd at least caused days’ worth of needless suffering.

"Murph...what's it gonna do to him, seeing him like that?! What's he' going to take with him? It'll be too traumatic, brother, you..."

"What's it gonna do to him?! It's gonna show him that when the people you love are suffering, you do ANYTHING YOU CAN to help them, even if it hurts! That's what it's gonna do to him, Connor. It's gonna let him see that his....fuck it Connor, Gavin's his DAD you KNOW that, we all do....he's the only one he's EVER known. So he'll see that he's sick and he's suffering and that maybe...MAYBE...he can HELP HIM! And even if he can't, he'll know he tried and that he was there with him, that they didn't just sit outside a doorway being helpless. Yeah it'll be traumatic, but he'll be ok because he'll be taking care of his DAD Connor. Now get the fuck outta my way."

"Murph, you're his dad."

"No. I'm not. He's my son. There's a difference. Now gimme the fuckin key and move."


	107. Chapter 107

He wouldn't leave his side and they didn't push the issue until Murphy saw him squirming around and kicked him, albeit gently, in the foot.

"If you gotta pee I'll sit right here with him till you get back. I think it'll be ok."

He'd gotten a sour look in response, but the kid got up and left, leaving Murphy to smile a little as he looked at Gavin.

No miracle had occurred, exactly...the pain he was clearly in hadn't ebbed in the slightest, the grotesque twisted contortions hadn't slowed....but there was no question that when he quieted on his own...those periods of strange, choppy breathing that seemed to be some sort of rest though honestly none of them could be sure...that Cody was soothing to him. 

They'd noticed it right away....that labored, rapid breathing slowing almost immediately as soon as Cody took his hand...and while it stayed faster than it should have he didn't seem to be fighting so hard. They could only count it an improvement, and the connection to Cody was without argument. He'd let go of his hand, once, and stood up...just to stretch...and things had become a lot more labored in a hurry. He'd watched for a minute, sat back down and picked up Gavins hand....watched him settle...and looked at Murphy with something like triumph.

He'd been afraid to do more...afraid to get closer than the chair by the bed, of course he was, he was seven years old and this was terrifying the adults...but he'd stayed, even when things got crazy and even Murphy wanted him to leave, he'd stayed....and pointed out after an hour or so that he couldn't leave if he wanted to because Gavins grip on his hand was iron.

Iron...and careful, and it was Connor who noticed...eagle eyed for any chance that Cody would be hurt by any of Gavins flailing around...it hadn't taken him long to notice that the hand holding Cody's remained still.

"He's aware he's there, then, brother, there's that, at least."

"Course he is."

"Well you'll forgive me sayin so but I think the rest of us could fuck off to Boston and he'd have no idea we were gone."

"Maybe, but that really doesn't matter. This matters. Having someone to hang on to that he's connected with."

"It can't be the same."

"No...I don't think it is. I don't think it's even close. But it's something. He loves him, Conn. If he can pull out of this he'll do it for him as long as he remembers he's there. And it doesn't hurt him when Cody touches him. It kills him when we do. That's not mental, that's physical. They're CONNECTED, brother. Not the same way as he and Bodhi but..."

There hadn't been much more to say, and they'd let it be....waiting.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Murph, c'mere. You need to see this."

Murphy, exhausted and feeling more than a little ill...riding the edge of chronic dehydration but loathe to break long enough to do anything about it....had finally started to doze and the look he shot his brother would have withered stone.

"Don't glare at me, brother, you WANT to see this."

"You can't just tell me?"

"Nope."

Sighing, thinking it would serve his brother right if he just keeled over in the hall, he followed him back into Gavins room, shrugging in baffled frustration at the familiar..and unchanged scene before him. Gavin more or less resting...breathing labored and fast, every muscle tense but at least not screaming... Cody sitting and holding his hand, though more agitated than normal and glaring at Connor.  
"Ok..what, then?"

"Patience. Cody...go on, climb back in."

"Connor come on! Murphy he's made me get up and down a whole bunch of times, he's nuts."

"I know he is but humor him. He seems to think he's on to something."

Grumbling, he let go of Gavins hand and climbed up onto the bed next to him, instantly wrapping around him.

"Oh....honey that's not...."

"Shush Murphy and just watch. I made him get up too..I came in and he was asleep there and all I could see was him getting knocked across the room if he started thrashing around again but watch."

He watched, at first seeing nothing but his son in what had to be the most precarious position of his life...dozing off.

"Murph, you see? You see it?"

"No."

"Cody!"

He crossed to them, giving Cody a gentle shake.

"Cody, get up for me one more time."

"Connor...no! Go away..."

"Come on, up with you. Last time I promise."

"That's what you said before."

"Cody, do what he says."

"I hate you both."

"I know you do. Connor, what now."

"Watch Gavin."

He was, and he was seeing what they'd already known...that Gavins breathing sped up and grew heavy when Cody wasn't touching him, settled and eased when he was. 

"I know, Conn...what's..."

"No, you're not paying attention. Cody, go on and lay back down."

"I'm not getting up again!"

"FIne, fine. Brother..pay attention."

And so he watched, seeing, as he'd known he would, the relaxation settle over his friend, the harsh gasps for air becoming easier.

"Now watch closely...look."

Connors voice had dropped to a whisper as he guided Murphy back toward the door, unwilling now to increase Cody's irritation and keep him from dropping off again.

"Watch what happens to Gavin."

At first...nothing. Though he wasn't hauling air in as if he were drowning, he was still panting...quick shallow breaths that made Murphy air hungry just watching. It wasn't until the sensation of breathlessness in his own chest eased that he realized what he was seeing.   
As Cody drifted off...sank deeper...his breathing shifted into the long, slow cadence of sleep...and took Gavins with it.  
While they watched the rapid, shallow breaths slowed...deepened...adjusted themselves to match Cody's.

"My God, Connor...they're syncing."

"I know. Keep watching."

It became lovely...in sleep, the little boy snuggling his face into Gavins shoulder, leg drifting over him, small hand tangling in his hair and twining strands around fingers...sleep comfort....entirely trusting, completely unafraid..sinking deeper and taking Gavin with him, all tension leaving the mans body...becoming as limp and relaxed as the boys, breathing deep and even.

"He's asleep, brother. Really asleep."

"I see that. Come on."

He stopped at Donovans door, knocked gently.

"Donny."

"Yeah, Murph, c'mon in."

He stepped in, noting the exhaustion on his friends face. He looked as if he'd aged a dozen years in just these few weeks and suddenly felt like an ass for disturbing him.

"I'm sorry...you were asleep?"

"Not all the way, it's fine. You need something?"

"No...but if you still want to try to get a line into Gavin now might be the time."

"He won't keep one in, Murphy."

"I think he might. Go take a look."

He left no admonishment against waking them, knew it wasn't necessary. Donny saw things.  
Proof in his next words.

"You don't mind my saying so, you're not looking so good Murphy."

"Not feeling so good but I'm ok for now. I just can't tie myself down while he's in there....Matt keeps going in and joining him and it scares the life outta me. I keep thinking everything that might happen and they've both already been through so much..."

"Y'know..you have us, right? You think we'd let anything happen to them?"

"No. I know you wouldn't but..."

"But you're not a control freak or anything."

"Shut up."

He said it mildly, the smile on his face genuine, but it was't returned.

"No, for real, Murphy. They HAVE already been through too much and you really shouldn't be risking them losing you as well."

"LOSING me! Donovan I'm not at deaths door, here, I'm just tired."

"And dehydrated and dropping weight again so quick I can almost see it falling off right now."

"Did I come in here to get lectured?"

"No."

He sighed, too tired to continue the argument.

"No, you didn't. But I wish you'd trust us to take care of them long enough for you to recharge a little."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that. Connor...can't you like...tape him down or something?"

"Soon, Don. Soon. Go on and see to your brother."

His unspoken 'and let me worry about mine' rang in the air as loudly as if he'd shouted, and Donovan nodded and slid past them out of his room, leaving them to each other.

"He's right y'know, brother. You look sick."

"I know. I'm not, it's just been fucking exhausting all this."

"You're talking as if it's over...."

"I think it is. Come on outside with me."

Headed for the front porch, he stopped in the front room...Gavins studio, dusty now and picking up a peculiar air of abandonment as its owners essence faded.

"These paintings Conn, you looked at them ever?"

"I have, brother. They're amazing..."

"They're HIM, Connor. There's no darkness in them...none in him."

"We've brought him some...."

"We're it, Connor. We're the dark he's been chasing away his whole life and look at what we've done to him."

"We didn't do this, Murph."

"No..we did. He was right thinking it was us who killed Bodhi. We did and you know we did. He never should have survived that bullet and he didn't. It just took him all these years to die."

"Murphy..."

"What."

He ran a finger along the top of a canvas, pulling away a heavy ridge of dust.

"Dust to dust, brother....I'm not blaming us, it's not something we had any control over. But it's true just the same. I need to show you something."

He stepped out onto the porch, into dusky light and the scent of jasmine.

"The air here...Connor it touches me like some kind of liquid heaven. Things stop hurting the second I step outside."

He reached into his shirt, pulled out an envelope.

"Donovan gave me this. I expect he gave you one, too?"

"No, brother. Why? What is it?"

"From Bodhi. Oh, it's no sweet sentimental love letter, of that you can be sure. It's instructions."

He lit up a cigarette and passed it to Connor before lighting his own, hauling on it hard and thrusting the envelope into his brothers hand.

"It's what he wanted me to do. He knew he was going a long time before we did...before he ever mentioned it. I don't think he thought it would be so soon but he knew it was coming. The thing is...."

He sighed...heavy and deep...face as troubled as Connor had ever seen it.

"I'm not gonna do what he wanted."

"You're not gonna go back, are you, brother."

Connor..who'd known now for some time that they'd come down to an impasse...he couldn't stay, and it wasn't just that it was too hot, too wet, too heavy...it was the drive in him...the drive to keep doing what he'd always done and with very particular people. He was leaving, going back to Boston, and he was doing it as soon as everyone was either alive for the duration or dead and finished. He knew it as he knew he breathed.   
And like his breath, he knew his brother wasn't going with him.

"No. I'm done with it, Conn. We both know that. Even that..."

He gestured at the letter Connor now scanned.

"It's too much. Oh, I could do it but....I can't go back there. I can breathe, here. My skin doesn't hurt here. NOTHING hurts and I can't...."

"I know."

"And the boys. I can't take them...especially not now. They're linked to each other and they need to be together. Cody's linked to Gavin and THEY need to be together."

He watched Connor move to sit on the steps and slid down next to him, pressing in close despite the heat of the evening.

"Did you ever think you'd be somewhere it was so warm in winter?"

"No."

"You know I can't just leave them. I know he'd take good care of them, I know they'd have a wonderful life with him..."

"If he lives through this and comes out with any kind of...."

"He will."

"And you're knowing that how?"

"I just do."

"So..."

"I can't leave them. I can't take them. The only thing left is to stay with them."

"Will he let you?"

"I think so. Especially if I stay back there and mind my own business. And nobody's even asked him if he wants to take on another kid."

"There is that."

"There's more."

"And what would that be?"

"That."

"What, brother, talk sense."

"I am talking sense. You don't know."

He reached for Connors hand, twining their fingers together, forcing him to let go of the letter. 

"As much as I DON'T want it to be, I don't have but a few years left.."

"Murph...."

"Quit. Listen. As things stand now, when I go..THAT..."

He pointed back toward the house, back toward Gavin.

"...will be you. And I can't let that happen. It wouldn't have been as bad for him if they'd stayed apart."

"Y'can't know that, Murphy! You're suggesting we stay apart?! I'm sorry brother but that's...."

"I DO know that, Connor. There's nothing anyone could have done about a lot of it, but if they'd not linked back up so tight it wouldn't have shredded him when there was suddenly nothing left to link to. You can see that's what it is can't you? It's PHYSICAL, Connor. Doctors can say what they like, Donovan can say what he wants...this is NOT in his head. It's in his body. His whole physical being has spent it's life working in tandem with someone elses. Apart...it worked more or less on its own. There was still a connection but it wasn't....wasn't...."

"Immediate."

"Yes. When they got together again their systems SYNCED, Connor. The way you just saw happening with Cody. The way you saw happen with the twins. The way WE have always been. It's not just our souls or our minds, brother, it's our bodies as well. They run in tandem. It's why we keep each other alive. If the two of them had stayed apart....losing his twin would have hurt and the void and emptiness...it would have been horrible. But....his whole system wouldn't have crashed Connor."

"It might have."

"It WOULDN'T have."

"Murph, look at your boys. They were dying BECAUSE they weren't together."

"NO."

He pulled away, stood up, agitated and pacing.

"Cody was dying because he was dying. Because he was SICK, Connor. From the time he was a baby he was sick and it was killing him. He LIVED because we brought him his twin and they SYNCED. Dual systems working as one and it helped them both. Trapped them, as well, but I don't expect they'll mind that too much. We never did."

"MIND?! Brother...."

"Will you just quit? Connor...God knows I don't want to ever be away from you, and I don't really see it happening for any length of time, but for your sake we HAVE to try to separate."

"Murphy..."

"I've already started up here."

He tapped his head, tapped Connors.

"We've always done that...pulled ourselves away to protect each other. How were we to know it wouldn't really help? That it was body as well as soul? But I think that's where it starts. I think if we...little by little...force ourselves to exist....on our own.."

"UN synced."

"Yes."

"There's a huge flaw in your logic, brother."

"What's that."

"Unless we just go our seperate ways and never get near each other again..."

It was too much, the very thought, and his words choked off as sudden tears clogged his throat and his hands covered his face, feeling himself shaking even as he shrugged off his brothers hand on his neck.

"Unless we do that, and I can't do that Murphy, I can't do that..."

"Connor..."

"Then every time we see each other we'll just sync right back up again. There'll be no avoiding it, it's not...I can't do it, Murphy. I can't do it. I won't do it."

He started to hug him, to bury himself in him...the need for him overwhelming...shocked beyond any understanding and hurt...so hurt...when his brother first held him off...then pushed him away.

"Don't. I know it's what you need. I need it too. But don't."

Dry eyed and distant, already cordoning himself off even if only for the moment, he slid away from his twin.

"You can't stay, and I can't go Connor. And in a few years I'll be gone for good. We may as well start getting used to it now."

He got up, dropped another cigarette on the step next to his brother and started back into the house, halted for a moment by his brothers next words.

"I'll get used to nothing, and what's happening to him in there? All that pain? I'll take it willingly if it means I don't lose you now, brother. Because what you just did..."

His voice broke again and he knew it would only be minutes before he'd be crying....too hard to speak, too hard to think...and that he'd be alone because his brother was really going inside and leaving him here.

"...what you're doing now? It hurts more than that ever could."

Murphy, paused in the doorway...eyes so cool and flat he may as well have been a thousand miles away.

"I know. But you've got something in you to back it off. It works. Use it."

He stepped back through the door and left him...heard the sudden harsh wail that came from his brothers very soul...and didn't look back.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Matthew who came to him...it felt like hours later and he'd never really know how long it had been that he'd sat there....crying even as he moved into some realm far beyond tears.  
Matthew who slipped in beside him and pulled him in close, little hands brushing the tears and wet hair back from his face, little arms closing around him and holding tight, silent until he felt Connor start to breathe normally again, shakes beginning to subside.

"Connor."

"Aye Matty, I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. He went away from me, too."

"Did he."

"He wants us to..."

He touched his head, touched Connors.

"For when he's gone."

"I know."

"Are we gonna let him do that?"

"I don't know that we can stop him."

They sat in silence for a little while, neither of them really thinking, just being..caught in the space between moments, silence finally broken by Matthew.

"Walk with me to get a snowball?"

Connors nod was silent, but he stood and held out a hand, smiling a little as their fingers linked together and they headed off down Desire...toward Piety...for a snowball.


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

He sat on the levee, feet banging pleasantly into the concrete on every backswing, eyes on the endless, muddy flow of the river.

Murphy was in there...somewhere. Everywhere. Scattered and drifting....he'd never said what he wanted, his feeling being that once he'd ditched his worn out body he didn't care what happened to it, but Matt knew he'd been pleased with what they'd done. And he'd been considerate enough to relocate them to a city where Matt could say that to anyone he wanted...not just his twin, or to Connor and Gavin...without sounding like a complete lunatic.

New Orleans kept their dead close...in all honesty treating them as if they'd simply become mute...talking to them, offering them gifts, arguing with them, and when Matt told people his father had been happy when they'd dumped his ashes in the river…well they all just smiled and said they were sure he had been...or in NOLA lingo...something that no longer drove Matt up the wall..."You know THAT'S right!"

Laughing, he held up the Jameson’s bottle in his hand, thinking about the day. Gifting the dead...they made out twice as well as the living, with presents on their birthdays...like today...and on their deathdays. Gifts indeed...though this one wasn't for Murphy. This one was for him. And Cody, if his ass ever showed up. Murphy's was in the bag behind him in the grass, not that he'd ever get it if Cody...ah but there went his phone and he smiled, knowing it was his brother.

He fumbled it out of his pocket, almost dropped it in the river...and how many had he lost that way? He'd lost count...

"Hey, where the hell are you? You got Connor?"

"I got him. His flight was delayed. It's snowing in Boston. Hang on to your goddamn phone!"

"Yeah, yeah. How long you gonna be?"

"Half an hour. Don't you dare drink that whole bottle, I don't want to have to break into Murphy’s again."

"Yeah, yeah...."

He hung up, glancing over his shoulders at the footsteps behind him, sliding over to make room for Gavin.

"I got a text from Connor telling me to take the bottle away from you before you drink it all."

"Little faith. Look..."

He held it out, grinning....three quarters full and tightly capped.

"Custody of the booze I hand over to you...God forbid I break into Murphy’s birthday booze again. He didn't smite me down last year though, so I don't so much as think he minded."

His grin faded a little, and he glanced sideways at Gavin...a move so like Murphy he'd have been a little creeped out had he been aware of it.

"You talk to him or did he just text?"

"He called a little while ago when his flight got hung up."

"How'd he sound?"

"Not bad. Better than last year."

If Murphy had thought separating was going to lessen Connor’s pain at his passing he'd been dead wrong....though they hadn't gotten quite the distance he'd hoped for given their addiction to each other. They'd manage a few weeks....sometimes a month or two...and then someone would be on a plane and they'd spend a couple of weeks undoing any progress they might have made.

In all likelihood it wouldn't have made any difference. They were what they were and there wasn't much they could do about it, and in any event, when it became clear that Murphy’s time was getting short....enough years gone by that they'd all begun to think that maybe he was full of complete shit and was going to live just as long as Connor was... Connor had been there and no force on earth could have ever made him leave.

They'd been scared....fuck scared, terrified....that he'd go through the same agonies that Gavin had, and while it'd been rough....there'd been no question in his mind at all that what he was going through was a horrible, physical withdrawal as his body readjusted itself to working on its own...and there had been days he'd thought he wouldn't make it through...it hadn't come close to what had happened to Gavin and for that they had no explanation other than....somehow...Murphy.

He'd told them...baffled but grateful..."I don't know what he's doing but from wherever he is, he's doing something."

It'd been harder on his soul, and while he'd known it was time, known Murphy was ready, known he'd made his peace and wasn't the least bit disturbed....aside from worrying about Connor....he hadn't expected it to be what it was.

They'd disconnected their minds before....and he'd lived enough days in that awful void to think he knew what was coming, but it was both more and less than he could have ever imagined.

For weeks after Murphy was physically gone, that link was still there. Up and running and connected. He'd thought it was his imagination until the boys had confirmed that they still had him in there, too.

It had faded...gradually, bit by bit, and if it was Murphy doing it that way....gradual withdrawal as opposed to cold turkey....or simply the way it was going to go with them Connor had no idea, but when it was finally, irrevocably, irretrievably gone it had been the worst pain he'd ever lived through, and in all truth it wasn't really gone at all but he supposed that was just...being a twin.

It didn't stop him coming to see them...though touching down in New Orleans invariably made him cry almost immediately...and it didn't stop the yearly visit on his and Murph’s birthday...something Matt had hassled him into the first year and now...on year three...he wouldn't have considered missing for the world.

Now, gazing out at the river, Gavin could only sigh.

"Gets a little easier on him every year, but I'm still not convinced it's a good idea. It really wracks him up, y'know? I mean it's not like he never comes to see us..."

"I know, but he's down with it now. I told him last year if it was gonna suck too much he could skip it and he bit my head all the way off. This year he called me and told me not to even suggest skipping it because he'd already booked his tickets."

He paused, suddenly.

"Tickets. Plural."

He spun on Gavin, almost tumbling himself into the river with a laugh.

"Who's he bringing with him?"

"Terry."

"Why?"

"He has something for Murphy."

"Do you know what?"

"Nope."

They waited, then, quietly...passing the bottle between them, Gavin sneaking a glance every so often at this boy....though not a boy now, not really, they'd turned 19 their last birthday...so like Murphy it was frightening. Virtually identical, over the last few years their resemblance to Connor...the only notable exception their hair, which had never darkened to Murphy’s shade but remained resolutely blond...had faded, leaving them mirror images of their father...something that cheered Gavin no end, but hit Connor like a blow to the heart every time he saw them, and Cody had very nearly broken that heart last year...

It hadn't been intentional, of course, and it hadn't once occurred to him that he and Connor would end up visiting Bodhi at the same time....buried in the Holt cemetery...the potter’s field he'd fallen in love with on his one and only tour of the famous New Orleans cemeteries, and he'd arranged to have himself planted there that same day....but sure enough it had, and Cody had been standing at Bodhi's grave, talking to him as was his wont, telling him it was the twins birthday...old men now of 56...and the first since losing Murphy. Telling him of his worries for Connor, and for Matt....not for himself so much because as much as he'd wished for it he'd never really gotten that close to Murphy. He'd loved him....but not that deeply. It had been much more a very heavy LIKE and while Murphy had never seemed hurt by it it made Cody feel bad.

He'd been standing there...no way to paint a fine picture of it...bitching to Bodhi about everything that was bothering him...jumping out of his skin, suddenly, when a hand came down on his shoulder, and he'd turned to see Connor...both wonder and tears in his eyes...

"Sorry to startle you, I didn't think it would. For a moment you looked so like him..."

He'd been both elated and devastated...cursing the part of Murphy that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in him for this emotional flood....and had avoided the twins more or less entirely for that whole visit...at least until the booze came out...but he'd broken their hearts over and over, slipping and calling them each Murphy half a dozen times...always catching and correcting himself but still...

Now, Gavin and Matthew, each knowing the others thought train...identical as they were....leaned into each other on the levee...legs twining together.

"Y'know Matty..."

"I'm not six anymore, could we not?"

"Oh shut up, I'll call you whatever I want, and you can bet you'll get it from Connor, too. This....this is just family, y'know. This whole thing. It's not some weird thing because we're all twins, or because we're the twins we are. It's just family."

"I know it is. I'd rather have it this way. I wouldn't want to NOT miss them both."

"Me either."

And so they waited, as half an hour turned into an hour....thanks be to traffic on the I10 they both knew...and the bottle was almost gone when they finally heard voices and footsteps coming up behind them, twisting around as one to see Cody, Connor and Terry....all laughing and wasn't that a blessing....heading toward them.

"How much booze did y'leave us, brother?"

Cody....really cheerful and not faking for anyone’s benefit...slid himself onto the levee next to his brother, eyeing the bottle with a shake of his head.

"No mind, you, we stopped at Sydney’s. Terry's got something for Murphy!"

"Yeah, yeah, lemme up!"

He climbed out of his brother and off the levee, moving to hug Connor....at the far end of his fifties now and finally beginning to show it....not as long or as clinging as he'd have liked given it would just shake his already unsteady emotional barometer....and throwing himself at Terry, hanging on and refusing to let go until he'd had his fill.

"What'd you bring? Fuck I'm glad you're here! What'd you bring?"

"Well....Connor, you want to show them?"

"No. It's good. Go on."

"You ok?"

"I'm fine. This is too amazing not to be fine. Show 'em."

It was clear he meant it, and Terry nodded, pulling off his backpack and taking out a box...not big, not impressive.

"You said he didn't have a marker."

"He doesn't even have a grave, unless it's the whole Mississippi river..."

"I know, Gavin, but you said he didn't have a MARKER. So...wait."

He looked around at the deserted stretch of levee...

"Where did you...y'know..."

"Throw him in?"

"I wouldn't have put it that way."

Connor stepped in, shaking his head and...amazingly...laughing.

"It's what we did! Or rather...dumped him in would be a better word...you're not allowed to scatter ashes on the river and we didn't want to get caught so we opened it up and sorta....y'know? Not one for rules, Murph...he didn't mind. So no need to be delicate about it. Was right here, that's why we come to this spot."

"Isn't it a little creepy, celebrating his birthday where you...."

"We don't. We just meet here and have a drink...and give him his present if nobody drank it..."

He shot a look at Matthew, laughing again as he backed up, hands in the air.

"Oh my soul, it's unopened in that bag. I didn't touch it."

"And then we go elsewhere to celebrate. After I have a nervous breakdown. Now show 'em what you brought!"

"Ok."

He slid the box the rest of the way out, slid it open, suddenly reverent.

"It's small because Connor told me you'd have to fit it into the wall somewhere. There's a duplicate back in Boston in case anything happens to this one...if there's a flood or they work on the levee or anything. Cody, you got..."

"I got it."

"Cody's got instant cement mix so we can make sure it stays."

He pulled out a stone....not much bigger than a largish river rock...engraved on both sides, the front with Murphy’s name and dates, something none of them really wanted to see, and he flipped it over, showing the back....a string of dates Connor was only too ready to explain.

The date they became the Saints.

The date they met Bodhi.

The date they met Matty.

The date they met Gavin and Cody.

The final date...in Connor’s mind the most important.

"This is the day he finally quit being a Saint and found the asylum Bodhi wanted for him all along. The day he got his life back."

He was silent for a few minutes, thinking, replaying in his mind the last years of his brother’s life....good years and not too few....years during which he learned he'd never be able to play the guitar, but was no slouch as an artist...years he'd spent sketching nonsense on Jackson Square and selling his little nonsenses to tourists, though more often simply giving them away. Years he'd spent sitting on curbs listening to music, watching painters, drinking with train kids. Years he'd spent roaming the city with his children and with the friends he made, usually shooting pictures to Connor every two minutes and thereby refuting his own ideas of separation.

Years he'd spent obnoxiously refusing to have anything to do with the boys schooling....handing that to Gavin without a backward glance....the thought of school supplies, uniforms, parent teacher contracts and meetings more mystifying to him than anything he'd ever encountered before.

Years of sitting up with them when they were sick, comforting them when they were sad, listening to them talk about life...real life...life with girls, with boys, and he was infinitely happy for them that they never developed the incestuous addiction he and Connor had. It worked for them...but in the world....he wouldn't wish it on them and was glad it hadn't come to them.

Years that he had lived.

Years he'd never once hassled Connor to join him...knowing that while he was out of it, Connor wasn't. Years he'd watched his boys, wondering if the call would come to them....and when it had, albeit in a much different way...a much more technical, media driven way....he'd found himself very deeply satisfied.

Connor, smiling even as he swiped at his eyes, turned the little stone sideways.

"This wee one here? This....this is personal, it's just me and him. But it's a good one."

He shook himself out of his reverie, a glint of evil coming into his eyes.

"Who's to commit this crime, then?"

"Us, who else?"

The boys took the stone, climbed down the levee, somehow balancing the little box of cement mix and the gallon jug of water without landing in the river, and found themselves a spot that suited them...laughing as they made more of a mess of mud than they'd expected but finally fitting the little stone into the niche in the levee and rinsing the cement off their hands in the river.

That done, they climbed back up, unzipped Matt's bag and took out the unopened bottle.

They wasted no words, just cracked it open, eyes glinting as they did, more often than not fastened to Connor’s.

"We a go, Connor?"

"We're a go. Go on."

He'd never been able to bring himself to speak at this moment, and he didn't now, just watched, satisfied, as his brothers children poured the whiskey in the river, holding back enough to pass the bottle around to everyone for a swallow and then throwing the bottle in.

"Alright."

Matthew, eyeing Cody with a look that told Connor they were about to do something unplanned, grabbed his brothers hand and looked into Connor’s eyes, speaking it for the first time.

"Happy birthday Murphy."

He waited a beat to make sure Connor was ok, and grinned.

"And you too, Connor. Old fuckin man. Let's get outta here."

They gathered up their things, silent but somehow not sad, and headed off the levee....family, together, and it would be a bittersweet evening....finally though, more sweet than bitter....backs to river, and the whiskey...flowing downstream into the open ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's finally complete. Thanks anyone who's stuck it out for all 108 chapters. Thanks to [lea_ysaye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/works) for everything. Thank GOD it's finally finished! :)


End file.
